The Balance
by Phoenix II
Summary: AU, Sixth Year. Harry, Draco, and Hermione are chosen to fix the Wizarding World. Featuring an H/H/D ship, manipulative!Dumbledore, super!Harry, and some weird, funky magic.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Certain elements of the plot have been influenced by nonjon's ficlet "An Instrument of Will" in his "What a Bunch of Nonjon" collection, and Petalsoft's "What a Witch Needs"._

* * *

><p>"You're just a dirty, good-for-nothing freak," Dudley Dursley spat, kicking the prone, bleeding form of Harry Potter one last time.<p>

Said boy, bleeding from a split lip, a broken nose and numerous other cuts even before you noticed the small knife sticking out of his chest, rolled over onto his back with a groan. He drew in a ragged breath, determining that Gordon's switchblade had punctured his left lung, and caused a good bit of blood loss beforehand. There was a slash across his abdomen, and his hands (caused by him trying to block the knife).

He'd been accosted by Dudley, his cousin (the son of his Aunt Petunia, his late mother's sister and his de jure guardian), and his "gang" of suburban toughs – a bunch of middle-class teenagers that thought listening to American rappers and wearing gaudy fake jewlery made them gangsters – at the local park, where he'd been aimlessly swinging, thinking of the latest in the on-going series of tragedies and disasters that was his life: the death of his godfather, Sirius Black, in a battle in the Ministry of Magic against Death Eaters.

The latest session began as usual: taunting Harry about the things he said in his sleep – first Cedric, now Sirius – which brought on loads of insinuations regarding Harry's sexual preference. Harry, accustomed by now to this, just continued to swing away, which proved to be a mistake, since Dudley took his indifference for cheek and punched him in the face, knocking him out of the swing. He'd fought back, of course, until Gordon had produced the switchblade and handed it to "Big D", who'd taken it and gone to town on Harry.

"How about that, Voldemort?" he wheezed to the clouds gathering in the darkening July sky (though it was still 5 hours from sundown). "Your number one enemy, done in by his fat, useless Muggle cousin."

Then he passed out.

* * *

><p>Draco Malfoy was having the best day of his life. He was standing before the Dark Lord Voldemort, along with four other Dark Wizards, each older than him, awaiting the receipt of his Dark Mark, the official indicator that he was one of the Dark Lord's elite servants. The Dark Lord was lecturing the assembled witches and wizards of his Army on the importance of diligant service and loyalty.<p>

"Each of you will formally enter my service tonight," the snake-man hissed. "You have done well in your initiations, and each deserve the distinction of being named a Death Eater. Extend your left arms, so that I may grant you the honor of my Mark."

As a man, Draco and the other four did so. Taking his wand, the Dark Lord walked over to the first of the men, and began hissing in what Draco assumed was Parseltongue, having only heard similar sounds out of the mouth of Potter during his second year. The man gritted his teeth and sucked in his breath through his teeth; evidently the spells used to create the Mark hurt. The same happened for the next man in line, and the next. But before he got to Draco, something strange happened.

A stabbing pain shot through Draco's chest, and he dropped to one knee with a gasp, as though he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, though why he did so he had no idea.

"What did you say?" Voldemort hissed, as the rest of the assembly looked on in shock.

Draco never got a chance to answer, because in that instant, he was enveloped in a black light and removed from the Death Eater hideout – through its anti-Apparition and anti-Portkey wards – before anybody could even think of a spell to stop him.

* * *

><p>A couple hundred miles as the crow flies from where Draco had been, Hermione Granger was finishing up her summer essay for History of Magic on Ironjaw the Third's Second Goblin Rebellion when she was struck by a similar feeling.<p>

When she exclaimed "Harry," however, she had a good idea why, and as a white light surrounded her, she wondered what Harry Potter could have possibly gotten himself into this early into the summer holidays.

She was deposited in the middle of a park, and immediately looked around for Harry, only to see him lying motionless on the ground with something sticking out of his chest: a knife handle. Rushing to his side, she saw that she was not alone; Draco Malfoy for some reason was also there, running towards Harry with what looked like concern on his face, which Hermione thought was decidedly odd.

"What's wrong with him?" a familiar voice asked in a decidedly unfamiliar soft tone as they knelt beside Harry.

"He's been stabbed, you bloody great pillock," Hermione said, feeling the side of Harry's neck for a pulse, letting out a relieved sigh when she was able to find one. It was weak and thready, but it was there.

"Well, what the hell are we supposed to do about it?" Draco snapped. "It's not like we can use magic on him; for one, it's summer, and for two, I don't know any healing spells."

"I think this would qualify as an exception to the Statute of Secrecy, Malfoy," Hermione retorted as a spell whizzed by Malfoy's head. Both conscious teens looked over where it had come from and saw an outraged Albus Dumbledore with his wand drawn and pointing at the pair.

"Move away from him, Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy," the Headmaster said. Both teens moved to comply, but stopped mid-motion.

"I SAID MOVE AWAY!" Dumbledore made a slashing motion with his wand, but a shimmering golden shield erupted around the trio.

"Albus Dumbledore, you will not interfere," a deep, foreboding voice intoned. Dumbledore paled, and Draco and Hermione did a double take when they realized the voice was coming from Harry, who was sitting up, despite the knife in his chest. His eyes were wide open as well, and glowing.

"The Balance will be restored," Harry said, still in the deep voice, ignoring the mounting rage in Albus Dumbledore's posture and visage. Then, in a softer voice, he spoke only to Draco and Hermione. "Hold onto me," he whispered. Both grabbed on to one of his arms, and before Dumbledore could say another word or cast another spell, all three vanished in a flash of light.

* * *

><p>They reappeared in a well-appointed bedroom, with Harry laying in the bed and Draco and Hermione remaining on either side of him. Upon confirming they'd arrived, Harry nodded once and fell unconscious once again.<p>

As he did so, a team of house-elves wearing nurses uniforms popped into the room and bustled Hermione and Draco out of the room "Sos wes can be tending the Master!" Both teens looked at the door in shock for a moment after it was slammed in their face.

"What. The. Fuck," Draco said. Hermione slapped him on the back of the head.

"Ow!"

"Language!"

"Fine, Merlin. Not even ten minutes ago I was standing in line to get a Dark Mark, and now I've been abducted twice by Harry Potter, nearly been cursed by Albus Dumbledore, and run out of a room by a group of house-elves," Draco said. "And that weird stuff Potter was saying about restoring the Balance? What could that mean?"

"Oh, I think I have a good idea," Hermione said. "But I'm not going to tell you."

"Why the hell not?"

"I don't talk to Death Eaters," Hermione said, only to have Draco shove his still-bare forearm in front of her face.

"No Mark. Not a Death Eater. Now I probably never will be," Draco said, not managing to take the regret out of that last sentence.

"Why not? Surely you can go back and explain?"

"I collapsed to one knee and shouted Potter's name in front of the Dark Lord's entire army. I wouldn't make it past the first guard post," Draco said. Hermione sniggered briefly before composing herself.

"Oh, how terrible," she said. "Really horrid, how you won't be able to go about Britain killing everybody you don't like."

"Oh, shut up," Draco said. "And tell me what you think Potter meant about Balance."

"You're a Dark Wizard," Hermione said, in a very matter of fact tone.

"Yes. Yes I am," Draco said after a pause.

"I'm a Light Witch," she continued. Draco just stared at her.

"Harry's Grey," she said, and crossed her arms to stare at him, waiting for him to put together the three pieces of information she'd given him.

"You've lost me," Draco said.

"The concept of Balance means that the Light and the Dark are completely equal," Hermione said, wishing she could conjure a set of scales to explain better. A clank sounded to her left, and she saw a small cabinet she was sure had not been there moments before, along with a set of scales and two figures, one white and one black.

"OK, look," she said, picking them up. "This is you," she said, putting the black figure on the left. "And this is me," she said, putting the white figure on the right. "Black and White. Dark and Light. Balance is Grey: the equilibrium between black and white."

"OK, but what does that have to do with Potter?"

"I just said, he's Grey. He's the Balance. We were chosen as representatives of our 'sides' of the spectrum, you for the Dark, me for the Light, probably because we're both people that Harry knows."

"But _why_?" Draco asked. "Why were we chosen? What chose us? What is all this Balance bollocks about?"

"We were chosen by Magic," Hermione said. "This happens every five generations or so, because inevitably either the Dark or the Light will have connived and schemed their way to an advantage when there needs to be Balance between the two. Voldemort is fighting the right cause the wrong way: he is killing Muggleborns and Light witches and wizards in the mistaken belief that reducing the population of Light witches and wizards will restore the Dark. While it's true that the Light has broken the Balance this time, killing won't bring power to the Dark, because neither side is supposed to have power."

Draco continued to gape at her.

"When Harry is healed, I'm sure he'll have some sort of idea of what this all means," Hermione said, as if Draco wasn't more confused than a Hufflepuff being told about human reproduction.

"...Right," Draco said, before promptly deciding the best thing for the moment would be to just stop being conscious, and maybe when he woke up he would have his Dark Mark and not be in some mystery house with Granger and Potter. So he passed out.

"Tsk," Hermione murmured before wandering off down the hallway, trying to gather clues that would tell her where Harry had taken them. Those elves had called him Master, but as far as she knew, Harry owned no house-elves. It would be very irresponsible of him to do so, since he was an officer of SPEW. The crests on the doors were neither those of the Potter family nor the Blacks. The first crest she had seen in _Nature's Nobility_, which she'd nicked from the rubbish in Grimmauld Place last year (and blamed the theft on Kreacher). She'd seen the Black crest there too, of course, but she'd seen it first on various and sundry items in Grimmauld Place. She continued down the corridor, through a door at the end of it, before a cacophony of voices caused her to gasp with shock.

"A new girl!"a devilishly handsome man exclaimed from a portrait to her left, where he was joined by a surly-looking man and a fairly attractive woman. "Tell me, girl, what year is it?"

"1996," Hermione replied.

"So soon?" the man asked, a frown replacing his previous rougeish grin. "But that means it's only been a hundred and sixty years since we were Chosen. How can the Balance have been disrupted so quickly?"

"Pardon me for asking, but who are you?"

"Horatio Prewett," the man said. "I was the last Grey Lord. To my left is my Dark, Dareus Prince, to my right is my Light, Imogen Bones. Are you the new Grey? If you go further down this hall, you'll find a few more female Greys, but not many."

"No, I'm the Light," Hermione replied. "My Grey is Harry Potter, but he's been badly hurt. Something called me and the man I suppose will be our Dark to his side, and then he told off Professor Dumbledore and brought us here."

"And who is your Dark?"

"Draco Malfoy," Hermione replied.

"Interesting, a Malfoy," Horatio said, now looking thoughtful. "Blond and a bit poncy, is he?"

Hermione stifled a giggle. "That's Draco."

"That's every Malfoy since 1066," Horatio told her with a wink. "Don't worry about your Grey, I'm sure he'll be fine. The elves here are top notch, and unless I'm much mistaken, every Grey since the 1370s has been brought here grieviously wounded. I brought Dareus and Imogen to me after a run in with a Welsh Green after a Quidditch match at Holyhead. It very nearly killed me."

"And, where is here, exactly?" Hermione asked.

"The old Peverell manor, Gossamer Park," Horatio replied. "The family is sadly defunct in name, though your Grey probably has a good bit of Peverell blood in him, but their home remains the home of the Balance. The Peverells had a bit of a thing for the number three, and its effects on magic. They always had three sons, every generation: one Light, one Dark, and one Grey, to keep the family balanced. Then came the last three Peverell sons: Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus. Antioch was the Dark, Cadmus was the Grey, and Ignotus was the Light. There's a fairy tale that's read to young witches and wizards about them, about how they met Death who was mad at them for conjuring a bridge over a river instead of drowning like a normal person would, and how he gave them each a 'reward' for their cleverness. Do you know the story?"

"No, I don't, I'm a muggleborn," Hermione replied. Horatio's eyebrows rose at that.

"Well, that certainly is uncommon. The Balance must be seriously out of whack if Magic has chosen a Muggleborn for the Light Witch. No offense meant, of course," he added at the look on Hermione's face.

"Anyway, Antioch and Cadmus both met with fishy ends. Antioch died heirless, Cadmus sired a daughter before his death, and only Ignotus lived to old age, but even he only managed to sire two sons. Not enough to maintain the Balance. So Magic started bringing in witches and wizards from other families to supplement the Peverells and maintain the Balance. Eventually, the Peverells stopped siring sons, and Magic took this place to be the home for her Chosen when they were needed."

"I know a little bit about what you mean by the Balance, but how are just the three of us supposed to correct the imbalance?"

"Put your Grey in charge," Horatio said. "A Ritual of Judgment will cement Magic's choices and boost your own natural powers immensely. I would have been a strong Grey wizard myself without the Ritual, but it made me a Lord, nearly a Force. Given a chance to display your powers in public, witches and wizards will flock to you. I'm sure you've realized this by now, my dear, but the general public will follow where its most powerful members lead."

Hermione's expression darkened as she thought about the hate mail she and Harry had received throughout the Triwizard Tournament after certain "facts" had been printed in the Daily Prophet, and the way people had stared at him at the beginning of last year. "Oh yes, I've realized."

"Once your Grey is healed, all three of you should undergo the Ritual of Judgment. There are various levels for each branch of Magic: the Light, the Dark and the Grey, but none Chosen by Magic have ever come out of the Ritual as anything less than a Master of their affiliation. Most come out as Lords, and most of the Peverells were Forces of their affiliated branch of Magic. The last Grey Force was Ignatius Davies in 1661," Horatio said.

"What are the levels?" Hermione asked.

"Well, they're ways of classifying the otherwise minute differences between powers and abilities of powerful wizards. A Knight is the lowest rank, but even a Knight of any affiliation is more powerful than your average witch or wizard by a factor of six and a half. From Knight, the ranks go up to Mage, Sorcerer or Sorceress, Master, Lord or Lady, Force. Forces are interesting because they can either be to an affiliation, or to an element. Merlin was a Grey Force, according to legend. From Force, there is only one more rank, which is almost unattainable: the Instrument. No mortal has ever emerged from the Ritual of Judgment as an Instrument. Most don't believe it's even possible."

"With his luck, Harry will come out as one," Hermione replied with a small smile. Horatio laughed.

"I would say you're very lucky, and very unlucky if he does," he said. "You'll be very lucky because he'll be very powerful and most likely a fantastic lover to both you and your Dark, but very unlucky because all the work you'll have to do will leave you very little time to enjoy him, at least in life."

"Enjoy him?" Hermione asked.

"Oh yes. Once you emerge from Judgment, you'll want to get your portaits painted while you're young and attractive. That way, you can shag through the afterlife."

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"It's the done thing, young lady," Imogen Bones spoke for the first time. "Now if you don't mind, I'd quite like to enjoy Horatio while he's all worked up. It's been so long since he's been properly feisty."

Part of Hermione saw that Dareus Prince's image in the portrait was already naked while Imogen was speaking frankly of sex and Horatio was telling her of it. With a squeak, she turned on her heel and walked back out of the corridor.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Well, I'm back! I have four completed chapters of this one, and a fifth in the works. I'm not sure how often I will be able to - or want to - post, just like I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this, even four and a half chapters in. Setting is sixth year, obviously, as you see in the first segment. The influence from nonjon and petalsoft will likely wane after the early chapters, while this story will probably be heavily AU with more influences from outside sources than I typically use (even Japanese music, as ridiculous as that sounds). It will also feature an attempt at a heavy-handed, manipulative!Dumbledore and a slightly-less-douchey-than-normal!Draco._

_Until next time!_

_-Phoenix II  
><em>


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter woke with a start to find himself in a bedroom, and no knife in his chest. Furthermore, his nose felt fine and a quick gaze at his hands showed no trace of the cuts that sure as hell had been there whenever he'd last looked. He was also quite naked, a fact he quickly discovered when he'd lifted the bedcovers to check for the presence of the deep cut to his abdomen, which was also missing.

"Huh," he said. "Interesting." Sliding out of the bed, he found his glasses on the bedside table along with his wand, a grey robe draped over a chair, and pair of dragonhide boots. Dressing himself, he walked out of the room, and nearly trod on an unconscious Draco Malfoy. Without thinking, he pulled out his wand and cast _Rennervate_on the Slytherin, who woke with a start.

"Potter!" he exclaimed, quickly taking in his surroundings and looking at his bare forearms. "Shit!"

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked, keeping his wand trained on the blond.

"What the bloody hell do you mean, what am I doing here?" Malfoy asked. "You ruddy well brought me here yesterday!"

"You lie!" Harry shot back. "I would never have brought you here. I don't even know where _here_is!"

"You did something that brought me and Granger to your side in that Muggle park, and stopped Dumbledore cursing us both, and said something in a weird voice about restoring the Balance, and then you brought us both here and passed out," Draco said. "And then a bunch of house-elves ran us out of that room so they could heal you. Apparently they managed."

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Dunno. Guess she wandered off," Draco said. "I passed out after she insinuated that the three of us were supposed to take over the world."

"Oh, well aren't you helpful?" Harry asked, putting his wand back in his robe before stalking off, leaving Draco behind. Footfalls behind him told him that Malfoy had a curious side to him, but he didn't acknowledge the blond's presence.

"Point me Hermione Granger," Harry whispered, pulling out his wand and resting it on his palm. The spinning wand pointed straight ahead, so Harry (and Draco) proceeded down the corridor until they came to the closed door. Surprised to find the door unlocked, both boys opened it to find Hermione laughing along with a portrait of two men and a woman in various states of undress.

"-and then I said to him, 'Dareus, just because you're my Dark doesn't mean that we can't have a little light while you're shagging me,' and Imogen started giggling because she's not that tall and thought I was talking about her, and long story short, we never did get around to shagging that night," a suave, shirtless man in tight-looking trousers said. "Oh I say, Hermione, I do think your two companions have finally made their way here!"

Hermione turned around with tears of laughter streaming down her face and a big grin that only got bigger once she spotted Harry.

"Oh, Harry!" she said, throwing her arms around him. "You're alive!"

"Yes, yes I am. Who're your friends?"

"I am Horatio Prewett, and judging by the color of your robes, I am your predecessor as Lord of this Manor and Magic's Chosen Grey," said the shirtless man, who reminded Harry a great deal of himself, if he looked a bit more like Johnny Depp and had more confidence in himself.

"I am Dareus Prince," a scowling man standing behind a sofa in the left corner of the portrait said. "I'm the blond's predecessor as Magic's Chosen Dark.

"I am Imogen Bones," the smallish lady wearing a corset and a pair of knickers said. "I'm Miss Hermione's predecessor as Magic's Chosen Light."

"Why aren't you wearing clothes?" Draco asked. All three laughed at him.

"Because we've been shagging, of course," Horatio answered. "Ever since Hermione left this hall last night, and until she came back this morning. Of course, it's been nearly fifty years since we'd really been active, so we needed to work through all our kinks first. Unfortunately, she came back before Dareus could tie me up again. We'll have to get back to it, I supppose."

"Well, I'll let you get to it, since Hermione needs to show me around," Harry said, seizing both his companions by the arm and dragging them out of the hall as Dareus approached Horatio with two belts and ties.

"There is no way in any god's Earth I am shagging either of you!" Draco exclaimed, wrenching himself free of Harry's grip as soon as the door to the corridor of portraits was closed.

Harry smirked at Hermione before turning his attention to Draco.

"Fine then. If you want to spend the rest of your life making love to a sock while Hermione and I have loads of kinky sex, you go right ahead," Harry said.

"Right. After all, it's not his fault Purebloods have the imaginations of three-toed sloths while those of us who spend part of our time in the Muggle world know more depraved sex acts than any of them can even think of," Hermione said, playing along and running her hands over Harry's chest.

"Some of which are illegal and some of which are so depraved nobody's told the politicians about them," Harry informed Draco. "For example, do you know the trick you can do with lotion, frozen ice pops and the anus?"

"N-no," Draco said, looking an interesting mixture of shock, horror, confusion and interest. Harry craned his neck to look at Hermione behind him, and they both shared a smirk.

"Well then, if you refuse to sleep with us, you'll never find out, will you?"

"I'll ask someone else!"

"Oh, I'd love to imagine that conversation," Hermione said. "'Excuse me, Muggleborn Ravenclaw who I have spent the last however many years tormenting because of your blood status, could you tell me about a trick involving lotion, an ice pop and the anus?' You'd get hexed seven ways from Saturday."

Draco turned pink.

"Face it, Draco, the only way to find out about the things you now secretly want to know is to sleep with us," Harry finished, pulling Hermione into a gentle, teasing kiss.

With a huff, Draco turned around and stalked off. Harry broke the kiss with Hermione.

"He'll be back," he said, quite confident.

"You really want to sleep with him?" Hermione asked. "I thought you had better taste, Harry."

"Well I want to sleep with you as well, so I must have some, right?" he asked. "Especially if you can conjure you up some eyeglasses. Hot librarian would be a great look for you," he said, trying to inject sincerety into his voice.

"Pervert," Hermione said with a sniff. "Come on, I'll show you to the dining room. You can have some sausage for breakfast."

"But Draco's left," Harry said.

"Oh, shut up."

* * *

><p>Draco was somehow waiting for them in the dining room.<p>

"How the bloody hell did you get here?" Harry asked.

"I smelled food," Draco replied simply, taking a seat at one of the three place settings. Harry and Hermione found their own seats quickly and surveyed the food selection.

There were eggs, scrambled, fried, poached and boiled, there was bacon, there were sausages, various types of breads and cereals, spreads for toast and bagels. Harry was just happy to have any access to food, especially breakfast food, and promptly loaded his plate. Hermione and Draco chose more reserved portions, with Draco sharing a curious look with Hermione at Harry's behavior.

"What I want to know most of all, Potter, more than anything involving ice pops, is what the hell you were talking about yesterday when you told off Dumbledore and said something about restoring the Balance," Draco said.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, looking at Draco like he was a crazy person.

"Back me up on this, Granger. Somehow, we'd both felt this sort of pull and Apparated to the park where you were lying with a knife in your chest, and Dumbledore came and tried to curse us, and then you sat up and told him not to interfere in this creepy voice, said that 'The Balance will be restored' and then told us to grab onto you and whisked us away here."

Harry looked extremely confused, even after Hermione nodded in agreement with Draco's recollection.

"I honestly don't remember doing any of that," he said.

"That's because you didn't," the same low, booming voice that Hermione and Draco had heard coming from Harry the previous evening said. Both looked around frantically trying to locate the source of the voice. Harry simply smirked and took another bite out of a muffin while his friends panicked.

"Good morning, my Lord Merlin," he said, watching the corner of the room as the others gaped at him, where soon enough, with a flash of grey light, an old man leaning on a staff of gnarled wood and wearing grey robes and a hat – looking quite like Sir Ian McKellen's Gandalf in the process – appeared.

"You spoiled my fun," the old man complained, as Hermione and Draco continued to goggle and Harry continued to munch away on his muffin.

"Oh, you can't complain too much," he said. "I find it hard to believe they could possibly get any more confused and astonished. Besides, if you didn't want me to know who you were, you shouldn't have told me last night while you were possessing me."

Hermione chose this point – hearing that Harry had been possessed in the park by Merlin – to faint.

"Impertinent brat, you know full well, because I told you last night, that I revealed my name to you on Magic's orders, so that you would relax and trust me."

"I wasn't in any condition to fight you then anyway," Harry replied with ambivalence. "But if you're going to insist it was necessary..."

"Quite. Now, wake up your Light and smack your Dark." Harry cast _reennervate_at Hermione and thwacked the back of Draco's head with his hand. The blond instantly snapped to attention, glaring at Harry and rubbing the stricken spot.

"Harry? Is that really?"

"Yes, I am Merlin. No, you are not hallucinating, nor is this a fevered dream. I am responsible for having brought the three of you here to begin the process of restoring Balance to wizarding Britain. It has been a mere one hundred and sixty years since the last Trio, and now this country is on the verge of its biggest split since the Normans came, with a rampant and vicious Dark faction doing their damnedest to kill anyone they believe affiliated with a timid and feeble pacifist Light faction led by a group of incompetent flunkies in your Ministry of Magic and the main reason for the imbalance: Albus Pissy Wanker Bitch Dumbledore," the man said, his eyes flashing and a stormcloud grey aura flaring into existence around him.

Hermione's eyes flashed with the insult to the Headmaster.

"Headmaster Dumbledore is a great wizard who has done great things for every witch and wizard in Britain," she declared. Merlin laughed and pointed his staff at her, freezing her to her chair.

"A great wizard, you say?" he asked. "There is no question that Dumbledore is powerful. But his accomplishments are minimal. Nicolas Flamel found ten of the twelve uses of dragon's blood on his own, and Albus' two discoveries were quite by accident. He was a very close personal friend of Gellert Grindelwald, the Wizarding Nazi during the early part of the 20th century. He saw exactly what Tom Riddle was becoming, you were quite correct in your second year, Harry, but Miss Granger's so-called 'great wizard' never took the young man aside and made so much as a single attempt to point him onto a path that would lead him to power and long life without too much murder."

Hermione looked torn, while Draco looked smug.

"Dumbledore is a very knowledgeable and powerful wizard, so why has he not made so much as a single attempt to remove the curse Tom Riddle placed on the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor? He may not be a curse-breaker himself, but certainly any competent warder and curse-breaker would be able to unravel it. Let's look at what he's done for Mister Potter: he cast illegal blood wards over a muggle home and deposited an infant – an infant who had been orphaned mere hours before – on the doorstep of said home with a note instructing the occupants of the home to keep and care for the child, then left without so much as bothering to let the occupants know the boy had been placed there until the next morning. This occurred, by the way, in November, which is not exactly a nice month to spend outside at night for a person of any age, much less for anyone under the age of two.

"Then, after allowing ten years to pass where the boy has been left in his relatives dubious care without any check on his treatment from the proper, or even any improper, authorities, he is informed that, oh by the way, you're a wizard and you're expected at this school on this date. That year, he's guided like a rat through a maze to "save" the Sorcerer's Stone from the shade of Voldemort: when in reality the stone remained safe with Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, as it does to this day. The next year, the 'great and powerful' Albus Dumbledore professes ignorance of the location of the Chamber of Secrets and of the monster it contains. He knew immediately what he was dealing with and where it was coming from. No, Miss Granger, that is the first notion that you will have to remove from your head before you can help your Grey: Albus Dumbledore is your enemy just as much as Tom Riddle is."

Hermione now looked sad, while Draco's smugness was ratcheted way down at being reminded that Voldemort was now his enemy.

"Oh yes, Mister Malfoy. A strong Dark Wizard you are, from a strong Dark family. But your duty to Magic comes before any familial bonds, and if your father in particular tries to kill you, you will not hesitate in killing him yourself," Merlin said. Draco looked ill at the thought of taking his own father's life, or indeed his father trying to take his.

"I don't think you'll have to worry about killing Lucius, Draco," Harry said comfortingly. "You're fourth in that line at least, behind me, Ginny and Dobby."

"Dobby? He's still alive?"

"Of course he's still alive," Harry said.

"Oh. I thought Father had killed him," Draco said. "It wouldn't have been the first time."

"Your father is worse than a slug, Draco," Harry said.

"My role here," Merlin said, interrupting the exchange, "is to prepare you all for your roles in the near future. Once you undergo your Judgments, I will rejoin with Magic and await your successors in these roles. I hope I will have a very long wait." He fixed his gaze at all three of them in turn, as if daring them to die any time in the next two hundred years.

"I will await you in the Library. Do make every effort to join me there sometime in the next half-hour," he said, before he vanished without a sound.

Harry finished his muffin and rose from the table, heading out of the dining room. Hermione and Draco followed, leaving their half-finished breakfasts sitting on the table.

* * *

><p>Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was not having a good day. Well, "day" as defined by a 24-hour period. His anger actually spanned two calendar days, now. It had all started just before dinner the previous day, when the recently-repaired device he employed to monitor Harry Potter's vital signs had gone berserk, indicating there was something wrong with the boy. He had, of course, immediately apparated to Privet Drive, only to be told by the Order guard (a less-drunk-than-usual Mundungus Fletcher) that Potter had headed off to the park a couple hours previously.<p>

With a sigh that promised a reprimand for the thief, Dumbledore had set off for the park, only to see Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy appear out of nowhere next to Harry. He'd heard Granger exclaim that Potter had been stabbed, which set Dumbledore's thoughts running immediately to Potter's fat Muggle cousin, who he knew to be a thug. He could interrogate the Muggle later, though. The important thing was to get Potter away from those two and healed enough to be deposited back with his family. For that matter, he was quite puzzled as to how and why the other two were there in the first place.

He'd shot a spell, which had missed, and ordered them to move away. They'd started to, but then they'd stopped. A shoving hex had been blocked by a strong golden shield somehow conjured by Potter, who'd then chastised him, saying something about the "Balance", whatever the Hells that was, before disappearing with Granger and Malfoy. Now, none of his various monitoring devices could tell him anything about Potter. They were all still working, but their information was a bunch of question marks. They had no idea where he was, or how he was, and so Dumbledore had no idea where or how he was either.

And this worried him. Potter was critical to a very large number of Albus Dumbledore's plans for the fight against Voldemort, and to have him missing, and quite possibly grievously injured or maybe even dying, would not do.

Now, he had returned to Privet Drive to interrogate Dudley Dursley. He would solve at least one part of the mystery this morning.

Pliant Petunia Dursley opened the door quite soon after his knock. Fixing her with a stern glare, he asked the location of her son, and discovered that the fat lump was sleeping upstairs.

'Perfect,' Dumbledore thought. 'I needn't even bother waking him up.'

"_Legilimens,_" he whispered, seeking out memories and thoughts about Harry Potter in Dudley Dursley's head.

He was not surprised to find great hatred of the boy. He himself had cast a spell to that effect on the Dursley household the night he had deposited Potter on their doorstep. From what he could tell in Dudley's memories, the spell had taken hold and for most of his life the fat bully had tormented Harry for his abilities and being a "freak". Lately, though, the hatred seemed to be borne of something else, and Dumbledore grasped onto a thread of memories to discover the cause.

What he saw would give him great amusement despite his troubles for the next several days. Dudley Dursley went to an English public school for boys. Such schools, Dumbledore knew from experience, had a well-deserved reputation as hives of debauchery and homosexuality, and this was the cause of Dudley's newfound aggression towards Potter. He had seen, at Smeltings, a couple of upper-form boys doing each other behind the stands at the sports field (a favorite place of his for smoking weed) and not found it disgusting. What had made matters worse (for Dudley)/more amusing (for Dumbledore) was that one of the boys (the 'girl') had borne a slight resemblance to Potter.

Dudley had come home that summer to find miserable, moping Potter, and while he persisted in his torments, it was really an excuse to be near the other boy and find fuel for the hormone-driven dreams he had begun having. Dudley Dursley was in the midst of a revelation about his life: he'd puzzled out that he was seriously unhealthy and his behavior left much to be desired, and that if he didn't change he'd never get a bird OR a bloke.

Pushing deeper, Dumbledore found the memory of the previous evening's events.

_"Hey Potter! Potter!" Dudley shouted, swaggering (waddling) towards the rusty swingset in the poorly-kept park where his (extremely fuckable) cousin was aimlessly swinging. Probably thinking of the two men whose names he shouted in his dreams at night._

_"Whatcha doin', Potter?" he shouted. "Waiting for your boyfriend?" His friends (cronies) laughed heartily while Dudley sneered._

_"Which one is it tonight, Potter? Cedric? Or Sirius?" The boys "ooohed" at the scandalous implication that Potter was stringing two boys along. Potter, for his part, didn't look at them, just continued swinging, the squeaks of the chains being the only other sound._

_"Oh wait," Dudley said, this time grinning nastily, "it's neither of them, cos they're both dead, ain't they?" More laughter. "Potter here's a black widow, boys. Fuck him, and you die, ain't that right, Potter?"_

_Potter continued to ignore him._

_"Oi! Potter! I'm talking to you!" Dudley shouted. Harry continued to ignore him. That was, until Dudley timed his forward swing with a punch that landed square on his nose and knocked him out of the swing. He landed with a thud on his (sweet) arse. The gang quickly dragged him away from the swings and encircled him. Potter had tried to fight back, but each boy had wasted no time in landing blows with their fists and feet whenever they had a chance._

_Finally, Gordon had produced a switchblade from his jeans and handed it to Dudley._

_"'Ere ya go, mate. How's about you give 'im a few more pretty scars to go with that one on 'is 'ead?" the thick boy had said. Dudley had wavered, but then he heard a voice that sounded a lot like his father in his head that said if Potter was disfigured more, Dudley wouldn't find him attractive anymore. Sold, Dudley had flicked open the knife and lunged at Potter, who'd put his hands up defensively and gotten them slashed for his troubles. After the shock hit him and he brought them away, Dudley had gotten him across the stomach and felt an odd satisfaction at seeing the freak's blood rush out of him towards the ground._

_Harry had dropped to his knees, but Piers and Dennis had hauled him up by the shirt and forced him to look Dudley in the eyes. His eyes that were usually a bright green seemed dulled and sad, and Dudley could see the questioning look in his cousin's eyes that asked 'why?'_

_"Because," he said, thrusting the knife into Harry's chest, after which Piers and Dennis unceremoniously dropped him on his back._

_"You're just a dirty, good-for-nothing freak," he added, giving Harry a final kick before turning away and heading home, where he'd eaten dinner, staring at the empty place at the table his cousin usually occupied before the full implication of what he'd just done hit him. He'd run faster than he ever had in his life to the upstairs lavatory and began vomiting, sobbing as he did so._

Dumbledore smiled. He knew exactly how to punish Dudley and the Dursley family as a whole for this transgression.

"_Imperio_," he whispered.

"When you wake up, you will go about your normal routine until after breakfast, at which time you will go to the nearest police station and confess to stabbing your cousin. You will plead guilty to any charges leveled against you by the authorities, and you will not appeal any sentence handed down. You deserve whatever you get," he said. There was no indication of agreement from the sleeping Dudley, but Dumbledore knew his spell had taken hold and his instructions would be carried out. Walking back downstairs, he bade Petunia good day and Apparated back to Hogwarts, where he began laughing maniacally as he walked the empty corridors towards his office.

* * *

><p><em>AN: There you are, another chapter with a bit more of a clue of what this story's going to be like, as well as a bit of an explanation for the opening scene. You might have guessed it from the influences I listed at the top of Chapter One, but this story will feature a stupidly overpowered Harry as well as an abnormally nice (sometimes, anyway) Draco. Work continues on Chapter Five, which has topped 2,000 words at this point and features a bit of Draco/Hermione character development, so there's that to look forward to._

_In Chapter Three, which will come out in a couple of weeks or so, depending on the response I get to this chapter, the Trio will undergo their Judgment rituals, Draco is insulted several times, Harry is a bit devious and Dumbledore is a scheming git._

_Feel free to leave a review with your comments and any thoughts you have about this story._

_Until next time,_

_Phoenix II  
><em>


	3. Chapter 3

Seven excruciatingly long days later, three teenagers followed an old man to a non-descript door at the end of a hallway.

"Beyond this door is where you will undergo Judgment," Merlin told Harry, Hermione and Draco. "You know the basics of what you must do afterwards, and know where to go for assistance beyond those basics. You have all been excellent pupils, and you will succeed in your Task. May Magic bless and guide you."

"May Magic bless and guide you," they repeated, the archaic farewell rolling off their lips now far easier than it had done at the start of the week. Hermione had remarked privately to Harry that it sounded a lot like the Jedi salutation "May the Force be with you" from Star Wars, with which Harry had agreed. He had proceeded to make sexual innuendoes regarding lightsabers for the rest of the day, to Hermione's amusement and Draco's increasing frustration.

Throughout the week, the topic of sex was pretty much the only thing they hadn't touched on in any way. Harry had taken his cues from the portraits he'd seen, and had begun fantasizing about his forthcoming bedroom adventures with his two other halves, but in real life both Hermione and Draco seemed hesitant to start with him and with each other.

'When we go live, I'm just going to have to drag them into my room, magic the door shut and their clothes off,' Harry thought as he opened the door.

Hermione and Draco followed him in, only to see a chamber with three separate doors. The one on the left bore Draco's name, the one on the right, Hermione's, with Harry's in between.

"I'll see you on the other side," Harry said, reaching for his door and walking through to find a stark ritual room with a piece of chalk and an athame. The procedure for what came next had been drilled into his head repeatedly over the last week. Taking the athame, he sliced open his palm and let his blood pool. He picked up the chalk and covered it in his blood before healing his hand.

Taking the bloody chalk, he drew first a circle, then a pentagram on the floor. In the spaces between the circle and the points of the pentagram, he drew a series of runes: the rune for Judgment in the Six Major Runic Languages. He then crushed the chalk and scattered it throughout the circle before pulling the athame out again and re-cutting his palm, dipping his finger in the blood and tracing it over each rune.

"My name is Harry James Potter," he announced to the empty room, speaking clearly and carefully. "I am a Wizard of the House of Potter. In spilling my blood, I ask for Judgment of myself and my soul." He dropped more blood from his palm into the center of the pentagram.

"I ask Magic to grant me a boon: the Power to see her Will be done, and the Balance restored. So Mote It Be."

"_**SO MOTE IT BE,**_" a deep, ethereal voice proclaimed. The room's magic spiked and Harry disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

When he could see again, he found himself before a throne, upon which was seated an unidentifiable figure.

"You ask a boon of me, Harry James Potter?" the figure asked.

"Who are you?" Harry asked. The figure chuckled, leaning forward and allowing Harry to catch a glimpse of his (it was definitely a him) face.

"I am Grey," he said. "You are one of Mine, and one of Magic's. She sends me those like you every now and again, though you are the youngest in some time."

"If you are Grey, then I do ask a boon of you," Harry answered. "Magic calls me to serve the Balance. I ask you grant me the power I will need to right the wrongs of both sides, to arbitrate their differences and punish their aggressors."

"You ask much of me, Harry James Potter," Grey said. "What do you offer in return?"

"Myself, and the future," Harry answered. "By restoring the Balance, greater numbers of witches and wizards will emerge from their schooling Grey."

Grey chuckled. "You are a cunning and devious one, Harry James Potter. She has chosen well, this time."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said.

"I will grant you your boon, Harry James Potter," Grey said. "You are already powerful enough to be a Mage, but you have such a difficult task ahead of you I will make you a Force. You fight against two Lords of Magic and their minions. As a Force, you will need to craft for yourself a staff, for should you try to channel that much magic through a wand, you would certainly cause it to shatter. I believe you will be able to find the required materials at Gossamer Park. When you sit in Judgment of others, Harry James Potter, you will find the Egyptian rune will provide a more final seal of your action. And as far as combat goes, I suggest you look into Japanese magic. You'll find something most interesting there. Farewell, Harry James Potter."

The flash of light returned and when Harry could see once more, he was back in the ritual room at Gossamer Park, stark naked and crackling with power. It felt, Harry thought, like he'd just flown up very high very fast and his ears had yet to pop. Standing up, he shook his head to try and make the feeling to go away, to no effect. Sighing, he walked towards where the door had been, only to find no doorknob. Annoyed, he raised his hand and thought 'Open!'

To his astonishment, the energy buildup he'd felt earlier disappeared with a quickness...as did the door, rocketing away to who-knew-where. Shrugging it off, he walked out of the ritual room and headed back to his own room, where he found a set of clothes awaiting him. Dressing quickly, he left the room and the manor house itself, for a reason he couldn't quite explain. There was a pulling feeling where the extra power had been earlier, and it was pulling him towards a grove of trees. At the edge, he found a broken oak branch that appeared to have been separated from its parent tree by a lightening strike. The branch was nearly 6 feet long, and split across the middle into two halves across a glittering rock. Harry leaned down to inspect this "rock", because in his experience rocks weren't supposed to be shiny.

He found, on closer inspection, that the "rock" was a coiled pile of a long, silvery, yet surprisingly unyielding metal that covered a pile of emeralds.

"Well, I suppose this was what Grey meant when he said I could find all the materials I would need to build a staff on the grounds," Harry said. "But what am I to do for a core?"

As if in answer, a familiar cry sounded as a fireball appeared in midair and resolved into Fawkes the Phoenix.

"Fawkes?" Harry asked, suspicious of the bird's presence. "What does Dumbledore want?"

Fawkes shook his head and flared his feathers, screeching a decidedly displeased warble.

"You're not here for Dumbledore?" Harry asked. Fawkes shook his head again, then shook loose two feathers, one from each wing, into Harry's hand. Before Harry could ask what he was to do with them, Fawkes flew forward and grabbed his wand from his pocket. Holding it in one claw, he gestured with his wings to the two feathers, then the metal, and then to the wand.

"Tie the feathers to each end of the wand?" Harry asked, and Fawkes nodded. "I don't think I can break the metal," Harry said. Fawkes rolled his eyes and gave Harry a look that suggested he get on with it. Taking the metal and the first feather, Harry mated up the tip of his wand with the end of the feather and wrapped the metal around it, finding it tied a knot surprisingly easy. Once it had tied the knot, the metal snapped itself. Harry cocked his head with a curious expression on his face.

"That was weird," he remarked, doing the same for the handle of his wand and the second feather. Once again, after the knot was tied, the metal snapped. Harry surveyed the two halves of the branch again, and found a hole in the middle of each half, the perfect size for him to slip his wand+feathers concoction into.

"Gods this is strange," he murmured, carefully inserting the feathered wand into the two cavities. The top half of the branch slowly slid down to meet the bottom, and when they did, there was a flash of magic and the branch was whole again, with no indication that it had never not been. On instinct, Harry took up the metal once again and wound it around the staff in a lazy spiral. There was a hissing noise as the metal seemed to melt into the wood seamlessly. Finally, he picked up the emeralds and set them around the top of the staff. They too moulded themselves to it. Grasping the staff, he let out a small gasp as some hitherto-unnoticed splinter pierced his hand, drawing blood. The red liquid ran down over the staff, which drank it eagerly and there was another flash of light as the pain in his hand stopped.

Pulling it off the staff, he looked at it and found no wound, and no blood on him or the staff. What's more, the pressure from earlier was back. Acting on instinct, he grasped the staff again, slammed it against the ground and shouted out the first spell that came to mind.

"_Lumos!_"

It was as if he had created a second sun.

This is a Linebreak

Draco came back to his senses in the ritual room with an odd burning on his left bicep. Turning his head and raising his arm to survey it, he saw a black half-circle with a white dot at the bottom end of it. He was vaguely aware that he had been wearing a shirt when he'd walked in, and no longer was. Standing up, he surreptitiously checked and verified that he was still wearing pants and shoes. As he rose, he felt a pull from outside of the room...from two different directions outside the room. One felt further away than the other. He could feel the thrum of his magic pulsing through his body, begging to be released.

Finding his wand in his left pocket, he pulled it out and made for the door. He frowned briefly when he found no doorknob. His wand twitched as he murmured the unlocking spell. The door vanished, and Draco walked out into the antechamber, where he was met by Granger, who was mercifully still completely clothed.

"You know, I could have sworn I was wearing sleeves when I walked in that room, and that you had a shirt on," Granger said. "And now I come out minus sleeves and with this odd tattoo on my right bicep, and you have no shirt to speak of."

"And a tattoo on my left. I'll show you mine if you show me yours?" Draco offered. Granger nodded and presented her arm to Draco. Hers was a white half-circle with a black dot in the upper end. He showed her his black half-circle with the white dot.

"Yin and Yang," she murmured. "Mine the Light, yours the Dark, but with the little dots of the other color to remind us that we're not fully Light or Dark."

"Whatever," Draco murmured. "So what did you come out as?"

"Lady," Granger replied. "Quite astonishing for this common dentists' daughter. You?"

"Lord, of course," he answered with a haughty sniff. "Where's Potter?"

"Outside, I think," Granger said. "I feel a pull towards him, do you?"

"Unfortunately," Draco said. "Shall we go see what articles of clothing he's managed to lose?"

"Finally ready to climb into bed with us, Malfoy?" Granger asked, a teasing grin on her face. "I know Harry's getting impatient."

Draco shuddered. "I don't care what those syphilitic portraits say, I don't want to bugger Potter and I by no means want to see _you_wearing any fewer articles of clothing than you are now," he said, wishing that his body would obey his mind in these matters: speaking the phrase "buggering Potter" had sent an immediate rush of blood to his nether regions. He did have a very nice arse, after all.

"Of course you don't," Granger said in her annoyingly knowing voice. "Come along then, Lord of the Nile."

Grumbling, Draco followed her (and her irritatingly tantalizing swaying hips) out onto the lawn before they were briefly blinded.

"Fucking hells!" he shouted, rubbing his eyes furiously to try and remove the great spots in his vision. "What was that!"

"It was like a nuclear bomb just went off, but we're not dead," Granger said.

"Like a what?"

"Oh, shut up."

"Don't you bring muggle rubbish into this and then tell me off for not knowing what the bloody hell you're going on about, woman!" Draco snapped, pushing past Granger and storming out onto the lawn.

"Potter!" he shouted. "Get your scrawny Grey arse over here and apologise!"

"You can't possibly think that Harry," Granger said from behind him, as he surveyed the grounds. He cut her off with a violent gesture of his left hand.

"Potter, being as stupid and unlucky as he tends to be, probably came out of his ritual stupidly overpowered and decided to release some magic with a simple spell. _Lumos_, most likely. As a result, we've nearly been blinded," he said.

"That is an absolutely ridiculous theory," Granger snapped.

"It's also correct," Harry said, popping his head out from behind a tree. "I'm most sorry, my Lord and Lady, for the error." He stepped out into full view wearing a full set of clothes, though clearly a different outfit than what he'd been wearing, and holding a staff. Draco could hear Granger's astonished gasp behind him.

"How the hells did you come out with that much magic and yet with all your bloody clothes?" he asked.

"I actually came out starkers," he said. "But I put some clothes on before I came outside. I see you lost your shirt. Did you have that tattoo before?"

"No, you nitwit. Granger's got one too, on the other arm. She says its some sort of religious symbol. Why do you have a staff?"

"I'm a Force," Harry answered. "Grey said it would be necessary. Now I just need a beard and a floppy hat and I can go as Gandalf for Halloween."

"What?"

"Gandalf? You don't know Gandalf?"

"Harry, the last Muggle author Malfoy read was probably Shakespeare."

"He can _read_?"

"Shut up, Potter, of course I can read. And I'll have you know it was Byron, Granger."

Granger's scoff said she clearly didn't care for the poet in question; Harry just looked lost (and slightly adorable). And shiny.

"Potter," Draco said, slowly, as the last fact trickled up from his subconscious. "Did you know your chest was glowing?"

"What?" Potter asked. "Don't be ridiculous."

"No, Harry, it's definitely glowing," Granger said. Potter looked down to see that his chest was, indeed, glowing. Curious, he dropped his staff and stripped off his shirt to reveal a golden tattoo of an eye and the complete version of the Yin and Yang symbol over his heart.

"Those definitely weren't there before," he said, confused.

"That's the Egyptian sealing rune for Judgment," Granger said. "What in Merlin's name did you get up to?"

"Had a nice chat with an ethereal being about our long-term goals and got a couple tips along with my boost. Did you say this was an Egyptian sealing rune?" Harry asked.

"Yes, you blithering idiot, that's what she said," Draco answered.

"Shut up, Malfoy," both Potter and Granger said. Harry screwed up his face, looking like Goyle trying to think, in Draco's opinion, and the glow dissipated, leaving the tattoos on Harry's chest. He pulled his shirt back on and picked up his staff.

"Shall we go inside and change for the trip to Diagon Alley?" he asked.

"_Now?_" Granger asked, in that annoying, shrill, 'are you sure about this?' voice of hers.

"No, next Tuesday," Potter replied. "Of course now. Next Tuesday, there won't be anybody there."

"But it's Saturday, Harry," Granger said. "There will be people in the Alley, yes, but there won't be anybody in the Ministry."

"Oh, there will be. Just not the right people. I'm counting on it," Harry said. Granger was stunned.

"How devious of you, Potter," Draco said. "Cunning thinking is not your typical _modus operandi_."

"I can be cunning," Potter said defensively. "Come on, let's go before Hermione comes back to her senses and starts lecturing me for 'immoral behavior'."

Draco grinned. "I do like the way you think."

This is also a linebreak

Albus Dumbledore spared a glance for approximately the 1309th time in the last week at the series of mostly-dormant devices which kept track of Harry Potter. None of the trackers worked anymore, and Dumbledore doubted they ever would again. The diagnostic charm seemed to still be working, reporting Harry was healthy and alive, but none of his other sensors and devices made so much as a whirr anymore.

For the last week, aside from one hour each day he'd spent with a member of his faculty discussing their plans for the upcoming term, he'd been considering the problem of Harry Potter's disappearance, and the possible consequences of the boy spending any amount of time at all (particularly the considerable amounts he was bound to be spending wherever he was) with Draco Malfoy.

Never had Albus Dumbledore been more worried for all his plans involving Harry Potter than he had been when he'd learned Malfoy had approached Potter before his arrival at Hogwarts with an offer of "friendship" no doubt ordered by his father. Had Harry accepted, Dumbledore would have undoubtedly have had several headaches that had been averted by Harry's carefully engineered ignorance.

Undoubtedly, Draco would have instructed Harry in the finer points of Pureblood culture. Things Harry admittedly should know, given his status as the last scion of an ancient House, but that his knowledge of would prevent several of Dumbledore's plans from coming to fruition.

In fact, Dumbledore mused, if Draco had befriended Harry then, the boy would know he has been a legal adult in the eyes of the Ministry and the Goblins for the last two years. The Goblins in particular will be most displeased with him when they finally get their claws into him, they think he's been avoiding going in for his financial reviews the last two years.

The only consolation he had, he thought, wrenching his thoughts away from might-have-beens to might-bes and probably-ares, was that Hermione Granger was with Potter and Malfoy, and was hopefully being a moderating influence on any Pureblood bigotry Malfoy was spewing to try and corrupt Potter. Granger would be the key to undoing any damage done once Potter returned to Hogwarts, he was sure. The girl was generally pliable and would undoubtedly be eager to help keep Harry from turning Dark. If necessary, he was sure he could find an incentive for the girl...a pass to the Restricted Section, perhaps, or access to some of the rare but useless books cluttering up his personal bookshelves.

His Floo roaring to life was most unexpected, especially when it turned out to be his old friend and comrade Elphias Doge.

"Albus," Doge wheezed. "You must come quick. It's the Potter lad. He's in the Alley, in Proselytizer's Square, with Malfoy and Granger babbling on about something."

"I will be right there, Elphias," Dumbledore promised, rising immediately from his chair. Potter in the Alley was bad enough, but Potter in Proselytizer's Square and running his mouth could not be anything but trouble. "Please clear the Floo."

"Certainly, Albus," Doge said, his head disappearing from the fire immediately. Dumbledore threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fire, shouted "The Leaky Cauldron," and was whirled away.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Another fun installment of The Balance in the books, and we now know what the Trio are. For those curious about the Japanese magic, I suggest you look into the J-pop band Field of View. In one of their songs, and I'm not telling which one, there is a lyric string which will be the invocation for the "spell" Harry will be using later in this fic._

_Next time, Harry has his first confrontation with Dumbledore, there is a rabble at the Ministry, and Harry gets an owl with a confusing message._

_Until then,_

_Phoenix II  
><em>


	4. Chapter 4

Proselytizer's Square in Diagon Alley was so named because it was where the crackpots, loonies and amateur demagogues went to "preach their gospel" – a polite term for rant and rave at passers-by – to the Wizarding World. Some of the less charitable called it Heretic's Square, because only very rarely did you find someone there whose message didn't clash with Wizarding orthodoxy.

Proselytizer's Square was the current location of Harry James Potter, Grey Force, Scion of the House of Potter, Heir Apparent of the House of Black, Savior of the Wizarding World and all-around Good Guy. Dressed in casual-yet-elegant grey robes and holding his oak staff (with phoenix-feather core and mithril and emerald decoration), his presence alone was enough to guarantee a crowd. The presence behind him of Draco Malfoy dressed in black and Hermione Granger in white was an added curiosity.

"Friends, Britons, Countrymen-and-women, lend me your ears!" Harry shouted, quieting the murmurs that had been rushing through the crowd for the last fifteen minutes as it had grown in size, with people flocking to the Square from the shops once he and his bond-mates (though they weren't officially yet, he intended to rectify that later in the evening) had taken up their positions and stood silently, waiting.

"As many of you may know from the newspapers, my name is Harry Potter. I am about to enter my sixth year at Hogwarts, where I'm a member of Gryffindor House and play Seeker for their Quidditch team. I have a teensy bit of notoriety for my defeat of the Dark Lord whose name I shall not speak here, since I gather you all don't like it being said, fifteen years ago this October, and apparently I am also the reigning holder of both Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award and Teen Witch Weekly's Nicest Arse award, though I'm not sure which I value more," Harry said, flashing the aforementioned charming smile and craning his head as though to look at his arse.

"With me here today are my friends and colleagues Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. Both are in my year at Hogwarts, Draco is a Slytherin Prefect and plays Seeker on their House team, and Hermione is a Gryffindor Prefect. We're here today, and color coordinated, to hopefully bring to your attention an important, verifiable fact: the Ministry has failed you all." This set the murmurs rushing through the crowd once again, and Harry noticed a pair of MLE bobbies exchange a nervous glance before one of them wandered off towards the Leaky Cauldron. Harry started wondering how long it would be before he was up before the Wizengamot on trial for sedition.

"For instance, did you know that, despite the fact that the Death Eaters and their Dark Lord's war against the Ministry twenty-odd years ago targeted Muggleborns, the Ministry has tightened laws aimed at re-enforcing Pureblood dominance in our world: precisely the aims of the Death Eaters they claim to have been fighting against?" Harry asked, his eyes hard as he stared out at the crowd, who looked mildly puzzled by his declaration.

"Or that, amongst the myriad of Ministry employees who I'm sure are perfectly competent at what they do, there is a core group who, in fact, bear on their arm the Dark Mark of He-Who-We-Won't-Name-Here? And that many of these group have the ear of Cornelius Fudge?"

Now a few of them were starting to get it.

"Yes, I'm sure a couple of you avid _Daily Prophet_-readers remember the group that was captured at the Ministry in June, which included such luminaries as Lucius Malfoy, Augustus Rookwood, and Walden MacNair. A 'special adviser' to the Minister, a former Ministry employee, and a current Ministry employee, all bearing the Mark of the Death Eaters, clothed in their garb, breaking into the Ministry.

"Malfoy, in particular, has been near the center of the Government for much of the last fifteen years. Fudge in particular relies on him as a crutch almost as much as he used to rely on Dumbledore, which gives him an extraordinary platform to achieve the Dark Lord's goals without so much as firing off one curse in anger. Why waste your own time using the Killing Curse on muggleborns when you can, if you fancy, get the Ministry to declare them dangerous creatures and have MacNair go lop their heads off with his ruddy great axe?"

A few of the Muggleborns in the crowd were identified here by the way their eyes bugged out at the possibility Harry's words painted.

"You can't count on the Ministry to defend you against the Death Eaters," Harry said, "because they don't want to. They're not all on his side, but enough of the right ones are to make sure the ones that do want to defend you – all of you – and actually do their ruddy jobs don't get the opportunity. The Government is made up of a group of insensate purebloods who see their offices not as positions of responsibility and trust, but as vehicles for profit and a gateway to additional power. There is not one single person in the upper echelons of the Ministry that would choose the well-being of another over that of themselves."

Mutterings broke out amongst the crowd.

"Now, maybe this is my Muggle upbringing shining through, but I happen to think that the Government is supposed to exist to serve the people, not the other way 'round," Harry said. "The _Prophet_ calls me the Chosen One, the only person in Britain who can defeat the Dark Lord. The Ministry especially wants this to be true, so I can relieve them of their responsibility to you to defeat that madman and the idiots who've willingly enslaved themselves to him.

"I'm going to tell you a secret today," Harry continued. "I am the Chosen One."

The mutterings stopped.

"I, and Draco and Hermione here, come before you today just after we've come out of Rituals of Judgment. We have the power to defeat the Dark Lord, and the Death Eaters, and undo the years of damage done to the Balance. We can solve the Ministry's problems, but we don't want to."

Shouts of outrage filled the square.

"We want to fight for YOU," Harry said, shouting the last word with a magically amplified voice. "To do what your Government won't and put you and your well-being ahead of our own."

The crowd calmed down almost instantly, especially since the emeralds atop Harry's staff were now glowing.

"The normal people of Britain have been underrepresented in Government for too long," Harry continued. "The laws in this country are set by the Wizengamot at the direction of the Minister: in other words, by Purebloods, for everyone. The average age of a Wizengamot member is eighty-seven. I admit, Dumbledore and a few of his contemporaries are bringing that up a bit, but the youngest member of the body is Julius Garrovick, who is sixty-three. Anybody younger than that, which is a very healthy portion of the population, has absolutely no voice in the Government, and nobody of any blood status other than pure has any say in what happens in this country at all. That also needs to change."

A loud roar of agreement followed this pronouncement.

"As many of you may know, I am a half-blood. I am also the last surviving member of the House of Potter, one of those stuffy old Pureblood lines that has been making laws in this country since ... well, not before Ollivander, but not long after. I have a seat on the Wizengamot I intend to claim and use to fight for you not only on the battlefields of war, but on the battlefields of politics. Everyone deserves to have representation in their government, especially those taxed as heavily as the non-Purebloods are in this country."

The crowd seemed well and thoroughly supportive.

"I'm heading to the Ministry of Magic!" he announced. "To start working for you! Anyone who wishes to come with may do so, I welcome it."

"I do not," an old, calm voice said, shocking the crowd as they parted to reveal Albus Dumbledore near the back.

"Ah," Harry said, his eyes narrowing. "Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, _former_ Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, _former_ Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and the sole reason this country's gotten as fucked up as it has."

"It is as I feared then," Dumbledore said. "Malfoy has gotten his dark tentacles into you, and corrupted you."

"Draco hasn't gotten a damn thing into me, much to my chagrin," Harry retorted. "No, Dumbledore, I've spent the last week trying to understand all of what is wrong with this country, and it all comes back to you."

"I'm quite sure you don't know what you're talking about, dear boy," Dumbledore said, twinkling his eyes.

"Oh, I'm quite sure I do," Harry said. "After all, you're the one person who's been responsible for the education of Britain's wizarding population for the last fifty years, and had a hand in it for forty before that. A great deal of their failures can be laid at your feet for failing to give them proper guidance and instruction, the rest can be laid at your feet for hoarding as many positions of power as you could get your grubby mitts on. Under your "leadership", this country has stagnated and become a bigoted cesspool terrified of one man, because your pacifistic ethos and refusal to impart proper discipline on schoolchildren has neutered Britain."

"Everything I've done has been for the Greater Good of humanity, my boy," Dumbledore said.

"No, not of humanity," Harry said. "The Greater Good of Albus Dumbledore. Because I don't think the greater good of humanity is served by allowing something like the Dark Lord to exist, much less to do what he has done for as long as he has. You had that child under your tutelage for seven years, Dumbeldore, and when you were at the height of your power. You could have smacked him down far easier than you had done Grindelwald, far earlier, but you allowed him to delve deep into the Dark Arts and commit murder and atrocities unseen since the Dark Ages against both wizards and muggles. Meanwhile, you sit in your ivory tower like Caesar while we are killed by Dark Wizards for your amusement. Well, Albus Dumbledore, are you not entertained?"

The notion that Albus Dumbledore – ALBUS DUMBLEDORE – may have been complicit in the rise and terror of Voldemort was almost too much for some in the crowd to bear. But even as they shouted abuse at Harry for even contemplating the notion, others drowned them out with cries of support for Harry's take on things.

"Oh, Headmaster," Hermione's voice cut in, sickeningly coy. "How are you feeling?"

"Quite well, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, confused. His confusion doubled when she simply smiled.

"I'll give it a couple days to sink in, then," she said. "Come, Harry, we should go to the Ministry if you want to have a prayer of claiming your seat."

"Quite right, Hermione," Harry said. "My offer from before still stands. Who's with me?"

A great portion of the crowd roared in approval, and with a smile, Harry, Hermione and Draco Disapparated. Roughly three-quarters of the crowd followed. A stunned Dumbledore was left staring at a scattering of a couple dozen people before he himself Disapparated, heading directly for the Wizengamot offices. It was critical Harry be blocked from joining the Wizengamot.

THIS IS A LINEBREAK

To say the under-paid clerk who was on duty at the Wizengamot Administrative Services office at 4:45 P.M. on that particular Saturday in mid-August was unprepared to deal with the arrival of Harry of House Potter and some 300 retainers would be a near-criminal understatement of the case.

You see, this particular clerk had had his ear hastily bent by Albus Dumbledore not five minutes previously informing him that it was a matter of paramount importance that Harry Potter, when he arrived, was not given access to his Wizengamot offices or allowed to do anything that Wizengamot members generally were allowed to.

The clerk had, of course, asked the older man why, exactly, the Potter Heir was not allowed to claim the Potter seat. The headmaster had answered, but the clerk couldn't remember what the answer was, and it didn't really matter because it didn't look like Potter cared much for any reasons.

"So you're telling me," the teen repeated, his voice amplified by the _Sonorous_ charm, "that I am not being allowed to claim my birthright amongst the noble and honorable Wizengamot because Dumbledore said so."

"He had a reason," the clerk said.

"Which you're not saying."

"I've quite forgotten it, being accosted by you and your rabble," the clerk said, sticking his nose up in the air in a priggish manner Harry had associated for years with Percy Weasley.

"Aha! This _fine, upstanding_ member of the Ministry doesn't want me on the Wizengamot, fighting for you, because _Dumbledore said so_," Potter said, enraging the crowd. The clerk began to be pelted with (what he presumed were) conjured vegetables.

"Unfortunately for you, whoever you are, Dumbledore can't get his way in this. I meet the requirements of the Act of Accession 1486, am not subject to any of the disqualifiers under the Line Continuation Act 1886, and have brought proof of same. You _will_ give me my Seal and access to my office," Potter continued, handing over several documents bearing the arms of the Potter family on the wax seal.

The clerk took his time poring over the documents, while Potter kept the vegetables at bay. Potter was correct, there was truly nothing that could be done to keep the boy off the Wizengamot. All that could be done was delay.

"Very well," he said, sighing in resignation. "I shall file your Declaration of Accession today, but it must be signed by the Chief Warlock and the Chair of the Credentials Committee before you can be given your Seal and access to your office."

"And who would those two people be at the moment?" Potter asked.

"The honorable Mister Graham Forrest is serving as Chief Warlock for this session, and the noble Dowager Lady Longbottom is the Chair of the Credentials Committee," the clerk said. Longbottom would probably sign off on the Declaration as soon as she got her hands on it, but Forrest was a flunky of the Minister, appointed Chief Warlock with the backing of the Dark families. He would do nothing consciously to aid Potter without waiting as long as possible.

"Fantastic. Draco, if you would visit Lady Longbottom, and Hermione, please track down the Honorable Mister Forrest and bring them here?" Potter asked. The two teens beside him nodded once and Apparated away without a sound.

The clerk's eyes bugged out. Only Dumbledore had ever been able to Apparate directly into or out of this office silently.

"Now, while we wait for them to return, how about you get that Declaration ready for us all to sign, eh?" Potter said. "Or else the vegetables come back."

The clerk gulped, reaching for his eagle-feather quill, inkpot, and a fresh scroll of parchment.

THIS IS A LINEBREAK

In the legal notices section of Monday's Daily Prophet (the section usually not read by Albus Dumbledore until well after dinner), the following notice was printed.

ATTENTION, ALL NOBLE AND HONORABLE WITCHES AND WIZARDS OF THE BRITISH ISLES, SUBJECTS OF HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN.

IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE ACT OF ACCESSION 1486, THIS DOCUMENT HEREBY GIVES NOTICE THAT HARRY JAMES, BEING THE PROPER AND TRUE HEIR OF THE HOUSE OF POTTER, DECLARES HIMSELF HEAD OF THAT ANCIENT AND MOST NOBLE HOUSE.

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, WE THE UNDERSIGNED (MR. GRAHAM FORREST) AND (LADY AUGUSTA LONGBOTTOM) RECOGNIZE HARRY JAMES AS HEAD OF HIS HOUSE AND CONFER UNTO HIM MEMBERSHIP AMONGST THE NOBLE AND HONORABLE THE WIZENGAMOT OF THE UNITED KINGDOM, WITH ALL RIGHTS AND PRIVILEGES DUE TO HIM.

SIGNED THIS 17th DAY OF AUGUST 1996 AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC, IN THE PRESENCE OF (VIRGILIUS WRIGHT), DEPUTY UNDERCLERK OF THE WIZENGAMOT AND MEMBERS OF THE PUBLIC.

HARRY JAMES POTTER, HEAD OF THE ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF POTTER

MR. GRAHAM FORREST, CHIEF WARLOCK OF HER MAJESTY'S WIZENGAMOT

LADY AUGUSTA LONGBOTTOM, DOWAGER LADY OF THE ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF LONGBOTTOM, CHAIR, WIZENGAMOT COMMITTEE ON CREDENTIALS.

THIS IS A LINEBREAK

"Mister Wright, I believe I told you Mister Potter was _not_ to be allowed to file a Declaration of Accession Saturday," a very disappointed Albus Dumbledore told the former Ravenclaw in the Wizengamot Administrative Services office Tuesday morning.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but there was nothing I could do to stop him. He had all his paperwork in order and even had the Chief Warlock and Lady Longbottom brought in personally to sign the document that day."

"Is there any hope of undoing the Declaration?"

"Not now that it's been published in the Prophet, I'm afraid," Wright said. "Unless you can prove that Potter is subject to any of the disqualifiers listed in Section Three, Schedule Six of the Line Continuation Act 1886, and convince 2/3rds of the Wizengamot to vote to expel him."

"I see. Thank you, Mister Wright."

"You're most welcome, Professor." Dumbledore rose and with a quiet word, any of Virgilius Wright's recollection of having advised Albus Dumbledore on how to attempt to keep Harry Potter off the Wizengamot vanished.

THIS IS A LINEBREAK

"Harry, love, there's an owl here for you."

"An owl?"

"From Gringotts, Harry."

"What's Gringotts want with me?" Harry wondered, absentmindedly grabbing the letter from Hermione as Draco handed him his glasses.

"_Head Potter,_

_Your attendance is required at a meeting this afternoon (Wednesday, August 7, 1996) at 2 P.M., Gringotts London,_" Harry read. "That's all it says. Weird."

"What time is it?" Draco asked. Hermione looked at their alarm clock.

"Ten a.m."

"Plenty of time for another round and breakfast, I think," Draco said, grinning. The letter was soon forgotten, and the trio were very nearly late for Harry's appointment.

* * *

><p><em>AN: A relatively shorter chapter, but I'll make up for it in the next two. Apologies for the wait, I've been meaning to post this for a couple weeks now but just kept not getting around to it. I should get chapter 5 up before the end of the month, sooner if the reviews warrant :)  
><em>

_As always, feedback, comments and questions are appreciated, just click on the "submit review" button and type away._

_Chapter 5 features a Draco/Hermione date, Harry being bamboozled by balances, and the Daily Prophet makes an appearance.  
><em>

_Until then,  
><em>

_Phoenix II  
><em>


	5. Chapter 5

Gringotts London was a massive, imposing marble building on the outside, lopsided though the columns supporting it were. It was even more imposing inside, if you looked long enough at the sculptures and carvings into the wall which depicted great battles of the Goblins. Looking long enough, you would think twice about entrusting anything of value to creatures who had so little regard for your species they have tried about once every other generation to kill you all. Fortunately enough for most wizards, they never looked long or hard at the goblin "art", preferring to spend as little time as possible within the Goblin bank.

For Harry Potter, who hadn't been inside Gringotts since he was a twelve-year-old, the art was fascinating, and all he was really looking at, seeing as how he was being "escorted" to his meeting by two goblins in full battle armor. Upon his arrival at the bank, he had been separated from Hermione and Draco by the pair and informed that the meeting was private, Family business. Draco had understood, but Hermione had furrowed her brow in the way she did when she was about to launch into a spiel of confused questions. Harry had foisted her off on Draco and assented to accompanying the goblin guards to the meeting room. He was sure Draco would insist on payback later.

"Where _have _you been?" a guttural voice asked, drawing Harry from his ruminations.

"Pardon me?" he asked, looking around for the source of the voice. "I'm not that late, am I?"

"Only two years, Harry Potter," the goblin behind the desk said.

"Two _years? _But I just got the notice this morning. The owl didn't look like it had been flying around for two years."

"Oh, he hadn't. But this is the first meeting you have bothered to show up for since you became an adult 31 October 1994."

"What?" Harry asked, confused. "This is the first meeting I've received notice of."

"Well, that would be the kicker, wouldn't it?" the goblin asked in what Harry recognized as a rhetorical fashion. "We have set and sent notification of nine previous meetings to you since that date. You are eight quarters behind in dealing with your finances as an adult."

"But I haven't been an adult for two years," Harry said.

"Oh but you have," the goblin replied. "According to our law goblins, your selection as a Triwizard Champion – a competition for of-age wizards – conferred adult status upon you. A status the Ministry tacitly acknowledged last Summer with your trial before the entire Wizengamot, a right reserved for adult wizards."

Harry stood agog.

"Now, shall we get down to business before Albus Dumbledore tries to interfere and cancel _this _meeting as well?"

"Why would Dumbled- ?"

"Mister Dumbledore has been, according to our sources, the trustee of your Estate from 1981 until your maturity. Perhaps he felt you were not ready for the added responsibility. Nevertheless, we must get through your finances this afternoon so your accounts can return to generating a healthy amount of gold for both yourself and Gringotts."

Harry, with a great feeling of trepidation, leaned forward and took the first stack of parchments off the goblin's desk.

-This is a linebreak!-

Three hours later, Draco Malfoy was exhausted. He had spent the time since Harry had been dragged off by goblins to an accounting that was apparently long overdue splitting his mental functions between answering Hermione's painfully detailed, incessant inquiries as to what their boyfriend was going through and thinking up punishments for said boyfriend that would remain pleasurable for both him and Draco while at the same time teaching him a lesson that he would hopefully not soon forget: Do _NOT_, under any circumstances, allow me (Draco) to be left alone with a curious Granger.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, cutting her off as she was about to launch another line of inquiry – he had already told her all he knew about Goblin accounting procedures, Harry's House and its holdings, and the responsibilities he was likely being informed of.

"What?" she asked, looking flustered at being cut off so abruptly.

"Are you hungry?" he repeated. "We didn't have breakfast this morning and it's nearly half-past five. Potter will be in there at least another two hours. I suggest we retire to a restaurant, have a meal, and then return here to await his discharge."

Hermione did not look entirely thrilled with the idea. "I didn't know there were any restaurants in Diagon Alley apart from the Cauldron."

"They're not in the Alley _per se_, they're in one of the side streets," Draco explained. "My family has a quiet interest in a couple of them, for nights when Father wished to do his husbandly duty to Mother and take her out for the night, so people wouldn't start to get the idea that their marriage was cold, loveless and political."

"Food does sound good," Hermione admitted, rubbing her stomach with one hand. "What type of restaurants?"

"Phillipe's is French cuisine, Giovanni's is, of course, Italian. Both have a small selection of Mediterranean menu items, but you'd be better off going to Petros' Greek restaurant for that."

"I haven't had pasta in months," Hermione said.

"Giovanni's it is, then," Draco said, offering Hermione his arm, as was proper, even if she was of less-than-Noble birth. Magic had deemed her a Lady, and that was good enough for him. "I'll leave a message with the goblins, just in case Harry is released early."

Before she could ask, he politely drew the attention of a goblin and spoke in passable Gobbledegook "_My partner and I are departing for a meal. If our companion Mr. Potter finishes his Audit before our return, we will be at Giovanni's, 62 Ronevsorg Square._"

The goblin replied in the same language, "_There is little chance of that, Master Malfoy, but thank you for the notice._"

Both gave each other a small half-bow before the goblin returned to whatever it had been doing previously, and Draco returned to leading Hermione towards the large bronze doors that separated Gringotts from the rest of the Alley.

"You speak Gobbledegook?" Hermione asked as they made their way down the marble steps to the cobblestone pathways of the Alley.

"Of course. It's most practical, because while the goblins speak English, so does every other wizard or muggle who enters the bank. Since very few of them speak Gobbledegook, being conversant in it allows you to conduct business with the Goblins in a more secure manner. I've had lessons since I was six," Draco said as he steered them into Ronevsorg Square, a collection of four restaurants. Draco recognized the name as a fairly obvious reversal of Grosvenor Square and had always sneered at it, but did not today.

"I prefer the actual Grosvenor Square," Hermione commented from his right. Of course she would have figured it out as well.

"I've never been," Draco commented, heading for the building on the left side of the square, a red brick construction with windows charmed to be black from the outside but block out no sunlight to those seated inside. Gold lettering on those windows gave the name of the establishment.

Draco was greeted in the European fashion by the exuberant maitre'd, as was Hermione, before being asked in barely-intelligible Italian if he would like the usual table his family used.

"No," he replied, his own Italian slightly less passable than his Gobbledegook, "a quiet table with little distraction but a decent view, please."

"Ah," the maitre'd said, leading Draco and Hermione over to a corner table next to one of the large windows. Plenty of late-afternoon sunshine was streaming in through them and over the table. Once they were seated, he planted two menus before them, and gave Draco the wine list. He quickly selected a middling-vintage red and sent the man off before Hermione could even ask what he'd done.

"I'd suggest that whatever you get, don't get it Alfredo," Draco said when she started. "You'll see in a moment."

Her questioning eyebrow was answered by the reappearance of the maitre'd with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Draco allowed the man to pour for Hermione first, then him, and took up his glass and quaffed a sip with practiced flair.

"It will serve," he said. "I'll signal when we're ready." The maitre'd departed with a bow. Hermione stared at Draco, who was now lounging as well as was possible in the restaurant seat, holding the wine glass aloft in his left hand.

"I can't decide what I want to do more," she said eventually. "Yell at you for ordering wine when we're both barely 16, or jump your bones right here and now for looking so devilishly handsome like that."

"Yell at me," Draco said, instantly straightening up. "It's all well and good that I can get you worked up like that, but save it for when we get Harry back."

"I see we still have some work to do with you," Hermione said with a pout, matching his posture. "I suppose one or two glasses won't hurt."

"Hardly. I've been drinking wine since I was 12," Draco said with a sniff. "It's perfectly legal, and what in Merlin's name else would you drink with pasta?"

This question gave Hermione pause. "I usually drank Coke," she admitted sheepishly. Draco scoffed.

"I see I still have some work to do with the two of you," he said, mirroring her words. "I don't even need to look at this menu to decide what I'm having, but I suppose you do?"

"Just let me check something," Hermione said, flipping open the menu to peruse it quickly. "Oh good. I'm ready. Bring him back."

A snap of Draco's fingers had their waiter back almost instantly. If not for the lack of a crack or pop, Hermione would have almost sworn that the man had Apparated.

"You are ready?" he asked.

"Yes," Draco said, instead of the 'Obviously' delivered with a sneer he might otherwise have used.

"What will it be for you _signorina_?" he asked Hermione.

"I'll have the lasagna," she said. "With a side salad."

"And you, _signore_?"

"The chicken parmesan, also with a side salad," Draco said. With a wave of the waiter's wand, the menus returned to their home beneath the maitre'd's podium and a basket filled with breadsticks made its way to the center of their table.

"Your entrées will be ready shortly," the waiter announced before retreating. Grabbing a breadstick, Draco twirled it betwixt his fingers like he would his wand in the Slytherin Common Room.

"Given that you've spent the last three hours interrogating me like Mad-Eye Moody on a particularly paranoid day," he said, "I think it's my turn to ask you a few questions."

"What sort of questions?" Hermione asked, taking a breadstick of her own and biting off the end.

"Personal questions," Draco said. "I still know next to nothing about you save for the superficial things and the painfully obvious things: you're a brunette, your hair is particularly curly, your parents are muggles, you have above-average intelligence, and you're a pretty good shag, at least judging by the way Harry reacts. So if I am to spend all of eternity with the two of you, I should find out more than that."

"So does this mean you're going to take Harry on a date too?" Hermione asked in a teasing fashion.

"I already know more about him than I want to," Draco said.

"You really should. You might find out a great deal that clashes with what you think you know," Hermione said, taking another bite of the breadstick followed by a plebian sip of the wine. Draco made a mental note to instruct both her and Harry in the proper fashion of drinking wine.

"If I were to give you the choice, right now, of snapping your wand and returning to your muggle life, what would you say?" he asked.

"Fuck you," Hermione said.

"Later," Draco replied.

"I didn't mean it like that," she snapped. "I would say 'fuck you.' Before Professor McGonagall came to my house and confirmed my suspicions that I am a witch, my life in primary school was an absolute nightmare."

"Do go on," Draco said, nibbling his own breadstick.

"I'd rather not," Hermione deadpanned. "In summary, though, it was rather like my first five years at Hogwarts with you, since you had been pretty reliably obstinate in refusing to learn your lesson despite Harry and Ronald handing you your arse at every opportunity defending my honor. I was insulted for my intelligence and my abilities the few times they displayed and before the Ministry arrived to fix the worst of it before wiping our memories of most of what happened, but evidently still leaving something that gave everybody great pause when dealing with me."

"Potter and Weasel did _not_ hand me my arse," Draco objected. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"I engaged in a tactical withdrawal when my insults failed to get the desired reaction," he said.

"Whatever," Hermione said. "Besides, at this point, I'm all-in with magic. I've missed far too much in muggle schooling to have any hope of getting properly caught up at this point. And there's no way I'd find two boys like you two in the muggle world."

"If that was a compliment, I thank you," Draco said. "It's nice that some people can at least recognize quality when they see it."

Hermione's response was cut off by the arrival of their food, which looked as good as any Italian cuisine she'd ever had. Draco's chicken Parm looked inviting, but he knew it would have to be eaten quickly lest it become soggy and disgusting.

"These places always go heavy on the salad dressing," Hermione said, poking at a particularly soggy piece of lettuce in her salad. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with a good Italian dressing, but there's no reason to dump the salad into a cauldron of it and then fish it out."

Draco turned his attention to his own salad with more than a small bit of chagrin, because it just gave the marinara sauce more time to soak into his chicken and found that Hermione was indeed right, the salad was heavily drenched in dressing. He made a mental note to reduce the tip by two Galleons.

"Second question," he said, taking a large cut from his entrée and spearing it with his fork. "Why in Merlin's name do you and Potter put up with Weasel?"

"I'm assuming you mean Ronald?" she asked after a mouthful of her lasagna. When Draco nodded, she continued. "Because for whatever reason, Harry likes him, and so to remain his friend, I put up with him. Aside from him and his mother, the rest of the Weasleys are easy to get along with, especially the twins."

"I had wondered," Draco commented. "Since you're always chastising him for some personal fault or another – he seems to have a great deal to chastise."

"There is certainly no love lost between myself and Ronald Weasley," Hermione said. "After all, he nearly got me killed our first year."

"How so?" Draco asked.

"Do you remember Halloween, how someone let a troll into the school?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, it ruined the feast."

"I had skipped the feast to wallow in self-pity in a girl's lavatory because I had been insulted again by Ronald Weasley, when what should turn up in that same lavatory but a ruddy twelve-foot-tall mountain troll. Honestly, if Harry hadn't dragged Ronald along, we might have both been killed."

"Yes, the Weasel does have a particular knack for saying insensitive things," Draco said. "I can't for the life of me imagine why … Harry … puts up with him."

"Harry is almost a Hufflepuff when it comes to his loyalty to his friends," Hermione said. "Ron was the first person in his life that was friendly to him, so Harry latched on and hasn't let go. I expect that will change soon, though."

"His reaction to finding out the both of you are shagging a Slytherin?"

"And not just any Slytherin, you," Hermione confirmed. "It will probably be on the level of Gryffindor and Slytherin's last row."

"Just so long as he doesn't try anything particularly stupid," Draco said. "If he targets me or either of you, I will deliver a reminder to him that I am Lucius Malfoy's son, and Abraxas Malfoy's grandson."

"Harry wouldn't like it if you killed him," Hermione said.

"Neither would any of the authority figures at the school," Draco said. "But I will not kill him. I may maim him a little though." Hermione let out an (in Draco's opinion) undignified and most un-Ladylike snort of laughter, which dissolved into a series of giggles.

"I almost want him to try it now, just so I can remind you," she said once she'd regained control of herself.

They finished their entrées in silence, for Draco needed time to think up another question.

"You've said why you're putatively friends with Weasel, but I still don't understand how you, as brilliant as you are, can put up with those two idiots."

"Just the one idiot," Hermione replied, halfway through her own salad. "Harry, as dense as he can seem sometimes, is really not that dumb. He just lets Ronald keep distracting him from his homework as long as humanly possible. His summer essays are always at least one grade level better than most of the things he turns in during the term because he doesn't usually have anything 'better' to do than properly research and write them."

"He's still terrible at Potions," Draco said with a sniff.

"Just the practical part," Hermione said. "I'd guess his Potions OWL will come back as an Exceeds Expectations, with an O on the theory and an A on the practical."

"I find it hard to match the brilliant Potter you're describing with the one I've seen the last five years," Draco said.

"Did you watch him in the Triwizard Tournament?" Hermione asked. "I was working with him through the whole thing, looking up potentially useful spells and drilling with him until he could perform them effortlessly. He might not be brilliant, but he is bright, and hard working too."

"If you say so. I'll believe it when I see him do something truly impressive with his new ridiculous powers," Draco said.

The rest of the meal passed quickly, with Draco shelling out ten Galleons for the food and leaving ten Sickles on the table. He didn't notice Hermione surreptitiously stopper up the bottle of wine and slip it into her bag.

-Another Linebreak Wheeeee!-

In Gringotts, a clock chimed 7:30 just as Harry set down his quill for the last time and set to massaging his cramping hand.

"Why can't you tossers just start using pens?" he snapped at the indifferent goblin.

"We don't make the rules, Head Potter, we merely follow them," he said.

"I'm sure," Harry replied. "Are we done now?" The goblin consulted a scroll of parchment.

"Everything relating to your parents' estates has been covered, the past eighteen years' worth of pending business has been covered in the case of the Potter holdings, and the last fifteen in the case of the Black holdings, your own personal vault transactions for the past sixteen years have been reviewed, and everything appears to be current up to the end of the current quarter next month," he said, checking off items as he went. "We shall expect to see you sometime in December for your fourth quarter review as well as your end-of-year review."

"Just send me an owl, then," Harry said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm starving and grumpy, and I'm going home to get both of those issues solved."

The goblin returned to his business as Harry stalked out of the office and back into the main lobby of the bank, where Draco and Hermione were waiting for him.

"I'm starving," he said.

"Well, that's a bloody fine hello after leaving me with her for five hours," Draco snapped. "Does it always have to be about _you_, Potter?"

Harry was taken aback, but only for a moment.

"You two bloody well just got back from dinner, didn't you?" he asked, pouting as his stomach rumbled.

"Yes, Harry," Hermione admitted, her hand going into her small bag all the way up to the elbow (Harry wondered how that was even possible) before pulling out a half-empty bottle of wine. "But I did save the wine."

"Well, it's better than nothing, I suppose," Harry said, snatching the bottle out of her hands and popping the cork out before making to swig from it, only to have his wrist grabbed by Draco.

"I absolutely refuse to allow you to behave like a drunken homeless peasant around me," he snapped, snatching the wine and levitating the cork back into place before passing the bottle back to Hermione. "We will take it home and instruct the elves to prepare you something you can pair that with properly."

"And while I'm eating?"

"I thought I would take her upstairs and ravish her," Draco said deadpan. As Hermione gave a little squeak of astonishment (or excitement), he continued. "To give you an incentive not to dawdle at the dinner table, as you're prone to do when you wish to tease me."

"OK fine," Harry said. "But you're taking me out alone some time." He noticed Hermione smirked as Draco balked.

"Why?"

"Tonight isn't going to be relaxing enough to make up for the hell the last five hours were. I'm going to dream in numbers for the next year and a half," Harry said, leading them out of the bank and to the nearest Apparition point.

-ZOMG A THIRD LINEBREAK!-

_The Daily Prophet_

_DUMBLEDORE CHALLENGES POTTER_

_Albus Dumbledore, Former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, today filed papers with the body in an attempt to remove his erstwhile protégé, Harry Potter, from it._

_Readers may remember Mister Potter claimed the Headship of his House less than a week ago, under the Act of Accession 1486, which details the requirements for Heirs of an Ancient and Noble House to succeed their fathers as members of the Wizengamot. The Declaration published in this paper Monday was witnessed by both Dumbledore's successor as Chief Warlock, Mr. Graham Forrest of Tewkesbury and by Lady Augusta Longbottom of Braxton Moor._

_Sources within the Wizengamot Administrative Service tell the _Prophet_ that Dumbledore's challenge to Potter's accession focuses on rarely enforced provisions within the Line Continuation Act 1886. Neither Dumbledore nor Potter could be reached for comment._

_A hearing on Dumbledore's petition is scheduled for next Wednesday at the Ministry of Magic._

There were two distinctly different reactions to reading this news. In the Headmaster's Office of Hogwarts, there was glee. In the Master Bedroom of Gossamer Park, the newspaper was promptly incinerated by three very angry and very powerful teenagers.

"I suppose this means we'll be going outside Wednesday," commented Harry Potter to his two companions in the large bed. "But don't worry, I'm sure we'll make Dumbledore regret being so obtuse about this."

"Do you need any help researching?" Hermione asked.

"No," Harry said. "I know exactly what he's going to try to pull, and exactly what I need to do to counter it and make him look exactly like the ancient ass he is."

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><p><em>AN: And here's chapter five! This and Ch. 6 have been my favourites to write so far, though I have a feeling Ch. 8 will be up there as well. We're getting close to Harry starting to wield his magical and political power like the club it could be. The trickiest bit of all is trying to avoid all the tropes and cliches that typically characterize these types of stories.  
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_Anyway, coming up next time: A Wizengamot that tries to function within the framework established by canon, a snarky Harry, and PissyWankerBitch!Dumbledore makes an appearance.  
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_See you then!  
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_Please review!  
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_-Phoenix II  
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	6. Chapter 6

_A/N 1: So sorry for the delay...three excuses: 1) July is a rather busy month for me, and consequently I had even less time on my computer than usual. (This excuse is rubbish because this chapter's been done since April.) 2) I'm stuck on Ch. 8 and want to stay a little bit ahead of myself. (This excuse is rubbish because I never ever do that.) 3) I've found a Gameboy emulator for PC and have been playing Pokemon Yellow in my spare time when I should have been writing. (This excuse is rubbish because I'm a grown-ass man.)_

_So anyway, here's the Wizengamot chapter, featuring some snarky!Harry, a Welshman, and some blatant foreshadowing. Enjoy!  
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><p>Albus Dumbledore was positively skipping with glee as he made his way to the Wizengamot chambers on level nine of the Ministry of Magic. Given that he was wearing his purple Wizengamot robes at the time, it presented a picture of Dumbledore that a great many people had speculated about, but never found this amount of proof before.<p>

The chambers of The Noble and Honorable, the Wizengamot of the United Kingdom were arranged in the manner of a collegial forum, as opposed to an antagonistic debating chamber like the Houses of Parliament in Westminster. There were seats for members of the Wizengamot arrayed in a semicircle, with a large rostrum in the middle which bore the Seal of the Ministry of Magic. A large marble floor, also bearing the Seal of the Ministry, separated the Wizengamot from the public galleries, which consisted of another semicircle with seven tiers of seats, as opposed to the three tiers for the Wizengamot members.

Dumbledore had spent the last thirty years presiding over these meetings from the rostrum as Chief Warlock, but Cornelius Fudge's agitation the previous summer had seen him removed from that position, as well as his position as a British Representative to the International Confederation of Wizards. As a result of that, he'd lost his position as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, since only a national representative could serve in that position.

On one hand, he was slightly thankful to Cornelius for doing so, though he would never admit it, because it gave him additional time to devote to planning the fight against Voldemort, but on the other he was still quite peeved that he had lost the positions which gave him respect in the international world, and opportunities to negotiate officially with other countries for aid if need be. Today he was a mere member of the Wizengamot, but he would not take his usual seat today, for he was part of the main business of the session: getting Harry Potter back under control.

Of course, that's not officially what it was, but blocking the boy's accession to his family's seat was crucial to reining him in and separating him from Malfoy before he was too badly damaged. Once he was re-declared a minor, it would be a simple matter to persuade the Wizengamot to place Harry under his Guardianship so he could be shipped back to Surrey to await the start of term.

This is the First Linebreak

Harry Potter rose at six A.M. He entered the shower at a quarter past seven. Breakfast followed at seven thirty, and by eight A.M. he, Draco and Hermione were attired in their customary Grey, Black and White robes. Harry had on a tunic and pants underneath that he planned to transfigure into Wizengamot robes once Dumbledore was put in his place.

Walking without conversation into the Entrance Hall of Gossamer Park and linking arms, Harry Apparated them all silently to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, a feat met with momentary stares of alarm amongst the many busybodies that hung around the Atrium before meetings of the Wizengamot. Seeing the curiously-dressed teens, many began to whisper amongst themselves, pointing out Harry's staff in particular as they approached the security desk.

"Potter, you may go through," the security wizard said, "but your companions must register their wands."

Harry's response was to motion Draco and Hermione past the security checkpoint and pull his Seal of Office from the inner pocket of his robe.

"They are with me in an official capacity," he said. "This means you bother them, you're bothering me, and if you bother me, you bother the Wizengamot, and I've found from experience the Wizengamot is not fond of being bothered. Do we understand each other?"

The security wizard nodded, though that may have been because the light shining through the emerald capstone of Harry's staff onto his face looked far too much like the Killing Curse for his liking, and he was sure it was an omen that if he bothered Potter, he wouldn't live to regret it. Harry smiled and walked past the desk as the wizard in a shaky, higher-than-usual voice called for the next visitor to submit his wand for inspection.

"Shall, we, my Lord and Lady?" he asked, taking both of their arms again and steering them towards a lift.

This is the Second Linebreak

Dumbledore had been chatting amicably with a few of his colleagues when he heard all conversation in the room suddenly cease. Turning around, he immediately saw the cause: Harry Potter had entered the chamber, arm-in-arm with both Granger and Malfoy, and wielding a very impressive staff. Dumbledore could feel the power radiating off the young man, and took a surreptitious step backward, wondering just how Harry had gotten so powerful as to require a staff, who had crafted it for him, and if perhaps his plan required some re-thinking.

Unfortunately, his musings in that direction were cut short by the entrance of Atticus Brython-Camwyck, Clerk of the Wizengamot, along with young Virgilius Wright and Mr. Graham Forrest, Chief Warlock. Wright, as the most junior of the two clerks, would probably end up with the bulk of the transcription work, while Atticus would hold Forrest's hand through the procedure of the session. In that, Dumbledore suspected, the Welshman probably regretted Dumbledore's dismissal, for he had required no assistance on procedure from the younger man. He waited while the rest of the room stood as the Chief Warlock's Party ascended to the rostrum.

"Order, Order," Forrest announced, once he was situated. "All persons having business before the Noble and Honorable, the Wizengamot of the United Kingdom, are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the Wizengamot is now sitting and will hear your pleas. God Save the Queen." With that invocation spoken, everyone with a seat sat down. Harry, along with Granger and Malfoy (though both remained in submissive positions two steps behind him), approached the center of the room. Dumbledore did as well.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Wizengamot Elder, Petitions that the Wizengamot nullify the Declaration of Accession of Harry James of House Potter," Atticus announced, reading from the scroll of parchment in the voice all Parliamentary Clerks seemed to have (though, Dumbledore mused, a great deal of them were Welsh).

"Elder Dumbledore, on what grounds do you make your petition?" Forrest asked, beginning the questioning period. Dumbledore would present his case in his answer to his question, at which point Harry would be asked to rebut any portion of Dumbledore's case or the case in its entirety. Following the initial exchange, barring something spectacular, Forrest would allow various members of the Wizengamot to ask questions of either of them. Once everyone's curiosity was satisfied, the matter would be put to a vote.

"I make my petition because I believe Harry James is disqualified under Clause 22 of Schedule Three of the Line Continuation Act 1886: The Heir Production clause," Dumbledore answered, pretending not to hear Harry snort behind him. "There are two reasons for this: First and most obviously, as a half-blood himself, he must at worst produce an heir with another Half-Blood for said child to be eligible to inherit under the Act, but if my sources are correct, the woman he intends to sire children with is another first-generation witch. Secondly, he is also engaged in a homosexual relationship, which has no hope of siring any heirs to inherit, putting the Potter line in danger of extinction."

"That's rich, coming from you," Harry said.

"Mr. Potter, I will come to you in a moment," Forrest said, glaring at the young man in the grey robes. "You make a serious accusation, Elder Dumbledore. I don't suppose you have anything in the way of proof to offer us?"

"Do I have photographs of the three of them in the bedroom?" Dumbledore asked. "No, I cannot say that I do. But I can produce a large number of witnesses that would testify that Potter and the young Malfoy heir behind him have never been anything but enemies, and yet they entered these chambers talking as if they were old friends, or new lovers."

"He also spoke that way with Miss Granger, Albus," Griselda Marchbanks observed from her seat. "Am I to presume she is the first-generation witch you referred to in your opening?"

"I would never ask you to presume anything, Elder Marchbanks," Dumbledore said, "but I shall answer your question yes, she is."

"Mister Potter, would you care to respond to Elder Dumbledore's accusations?" Forrest asked, intent on getting to the heart of the matter now that the base particulars had been established.

"Certainly," Harry said smoothly. "There's no point really denying it, he's got the basics down. I am indeed shagging both Hermione and Draco. But," he said, raising his right hand as the chamber erupted in gasps and whispers, "I have one pretty damn good reason, and a mitigating factor on top of that, though it is tied in to said damn good reason."

"You're rambling, Harry," Hermione hissed.

"Right," Harry said. "You all probably noticed the staff and have been wondering where on Earth I got it, and why on Earth I need it. This is a point I can't really make in words, so have a look," he said, shucking his robe and pulling off his tunic to reveal his tattooed chest. "I expect perhaps two of you up there to understand what these symbols mean, so you will just have to listen while I try to explain to everyone else.

"These symbols mean I, and Hermione and Draco, have been Chosen to fix what is wrong with this country. Elder Dumbledore and the scaly git wandering the countryside killing with apparent impunity have greatly upset the Balance, and as is her custom, Magic has chosen a Grey, a Dark and a Light to restore it. I'm the Grey, and I came out of my Judgment ritual last Saturday a Force. Hence the staff.

"Draco is a Lord of Dark Magic. Not a Dark Lord, though Voldemort did undergo Judgment when he was younger and slightly less mentally unstable and also received that rank. Hermione is a Lady of Light Magic, like Elder Dumbledore once was. And that is why I am not in violation of the Line Continuation Act," Harry finished, calmly re-dressing.

"You claim to be a Trio, then?" the oldest wizard on the Council asked.

"Yes sir, I do. You desire proof?"

"I do," the wizard replied.

"Very well," Harry said. "Hermione, Draco, come here please." As they approached, he took one of each of their hands in his. Almost subconsciously, they held each other's other hand. Harry murmured an inaudible word in what Hermione thought might be old Welsh and their tattoos glowed golden.

"Satisfied, Elder?" Harry asked, the glow subsiding as he released their hands.

"Yes, my Lord," the Elder said.

"I'm a bit confused, Mr. Potter," said a steel-haired witch in the second row, "as to how this means you are not in violation of Clause 22 of Schedule Three. Could you enlighten?"

"Certainly, madam," Harry said. "Hermione's status as a Lady, granted by Magic, supersedes her prior blood status. For all intents and purposes, her blood is as pure as Draco's, as is mine. By that measure alone, the three of us are not in violation of that clause, but Clause Seven of Schedule Two specifically exempts any sole heirs of a line Chosen as we were from the restrictions of the Act."

He received several skeptical glances from the Wizengamot at this pronunciation, prompting Hermione to go fishing in her robe pocket for a scroll, which she handed to Harry.

"Understanding," Harry said, "that not all of you may have the entirety of the Line Continuation Act 1886 committed to memory, I have taken the liberty of bringing the relevant section with me today. Who would like a copy for their perusal?"

Most of the Wizengamot raised their hands, including the Chief Warlock, and instantly the one scroll in Harry's hand became over 100 scrolls floating in the air. With a wave of his hand, they made their way to those members with their hands raised. He gave them a few moments to read before speaking again.

"With all that said, I ask the Wizengamot to dismiss Elder Dumbledore's petition with prejudice, and ratify my Declaration of Accession." Dumbledore did his best not to start at the speed with which Potter seemed intent on trampling the proper process here. He needed more time to smear the boy, and persuade the feeble-minded buffoons that made up the Wizengamot to support him in this, damn him.

When Forrest immediately nodded his assent, Dumbledore sagged. His defeat here was nearly certain.

"All in favor of dismissing the Petition of Elder Dumbledore?" he asked. A stunning majority of hands rose, accounting for all the Wizengamot except for Dumbledore's contemporaries. Forrest thwacked a gavel.

"The Petition of Elder Dumbledore has been dismissed, with prejudice. It may not be re-filed at any time. All in favor of ratifying the Declaration of Accession of Harry James of House Potter?"

This time the vote was unanimous.

"The Declaration of Accession is ratified. Welcome to the Wizengamot, Head Potter," Forrest said, whacking the gavel again. Harry beamed and Transfigured his grey outfit into the garish purple one the Wizengamot members all wore. He found a seat in the third tier, between a witch in her mid-80s and a wizard in his early 90s. Draco and Hermione found seats in the fourth tier of the public gallery. Dumbledore slunk in shame to sit next to Griselda Marchbanks.

This is the Third Linebreak

Three hours later, the Wizengamot broke for lunch, with instructions for members to return in an hour. For those of lesser means or abilities, this meant a trip up to the Ministry commissary. Harry, linking up once again with Hermione and Draco, Apparated directly from the Wizengamot chamber to the dining room at Gossamer Park, where the elves had already laid out the hearty lunch the Trio had become accustomed to in their short time there.

"So, what did you two think?" Harry asked after taking a large bite out of a large steak sandwich.

"It's certainly different from when I went to watch a debate in the House of Commons ," Hermione said. "It seemed like being in court."

"That's because it was," Draco said. "The Wizengamot is the High Court of Wizarding Britain," he said. "They try criminals and hear arguments on the legality of various proposals from the Ministry. The Ministry makes all the laws, but they have to get the approval of the Wizengamot before they can take effect."

"And the Ministry gets to appoint a third of the members, don't forget that," Harry said. Hermione looked appalled. "What, you expect it to make sense?" he asked. "This is the Ministry of Magic we're talking about, Hermione. Nothing they do makes sense."

"So then if it's a court, what are you, some sort of hereditary judge?" Hermione asked.

"Basically," Harry said. "About a third of the seats are handed down from generation to generation, another third are appointed by the Ministry, and the remaining third are reserved for Order of Merlin winners, because curing dragon pox obviously qualifies you to make decisions on property law."

Hermione giggled despite herself. As ridiculous as the entire notion was, Harry still managed to make his explanation humorous.

"Because of that," Harry continued, "membership numbers are never set in stone, but tend to fluctuate. Right now there are about fifty, since so many of the old families were killed off in the last War and nobody living has won the Order of Merlin since Dumbledore. Supposedly, the Ministry has tried to horn in and replace those seats with political appointees, but the Wizengamot has put the kibosh on that pretty quickly every time it comes up."

"Well they at least seem to be trying for checks and balances," Hermione said. The three of them worked their way through their lunch without much more discussion of the fundamentally flawed organization of their world's Government.

The afternoon's session was just as dreadfully boring as the morning's had been once Harry had disposed of Dumbledore's scheme: three cases of inappropriate charms, two of petty theft (one was actually a Knockturn Alley whore suing a wizard who had purchased her services but hadn't paid up after) and one final case: a wizard in Shrewsbury was accused of enchanting his front hedge to strangle passers-by he believed to be hostile, resulting in two Muggle youths needing treatment at St. Mungos and Obliviation.

Harry, having quickly developed the notion that the Ministry was doing its damndest to drag as many low-level criminals before the Wizengamot for trial and easy conviction so that it could claim to be "fighting the criminal scourge" facing Wizarding Britain, was unashamedly and loudly agitating in the man's favor.

"You people are bloody idiots," he announced loudly, rising and directing his ire particularly towards where a large section of "Light" wizards had congregated. "Can you honestly tell me you want to punish this man for defending his property?"

"His ward scheme and enchantments harmed Muggles, which is a violation of the Statute of Secrecy, Head Potter," Dumbledore tried to explain. He was, naturally, the head of the 'muggle-lover' faction that was pressing for punishment in this case.

"And you're not going to bother looking into what they could have possibly done to trigger the enchantments, naturally, because they're just poor Muggles after all," Harry retorted, before spinning away from Dumbledore and back towards the floor, where the accused sat, flanked by two Aurors.

"Were either of you the investigating officer in this case?" Harry asked sharply, looking between the two red-robed men.

"I was, sir," the one on the left answered, a man Harry estimated to be in his late 40s, with greying hair and an expanding middle.

"Did you bother interviewing the victims to try and find out what they might have done that would have set off Mr. Toppham's enchantments before you Obliviated them?" Harry asked.

"No sir, that's not protocol. Besides, it seemed a fairly open-and-shut case of him losing control of his enchantments, causing them to go wild and attack the first two people it saw," the Auror said.

"Unbelievable," Harry muttered; as Mr. Toppham reacted indignantly to the Auror's implication that he had lost control over his home's defenses. "So what exactly did your investigation consist of, then, Auror?"

"I checked who had cast the particular enchantment, who owned the home and if there had been any external spells cast that might have triggered the attack," the Auror replied. "There were none."

"You're useless," Harry said. "And if that's your investigative protocol, I think the entire Auror Corps needs to read a book on modern police investigative techniques. Mr. Toppham," Harry now shifted his attention to the defendant.

"Yes sir?" the man answered.

"Did you know the two Muggles your defenses attacked?"

"Not personally, no," Toppham said, "I don't leave the house much these days, you understand, but they were teenagers, and they were always causing mayhem."

"What sort of mayhem?"

"The sort of things Muggle teens do for a laugh: throw eggs at people's homes and cars, string toilet paper through their trees, paint odd slogans on walls and roads, that sort of stuff. Occasionally they'll hit a cricket ball through a window."

"In other words, petty vandalism," Harry said.

"I suppose so, yes," Toppham answered.

"I'll try you again, Auror," Harry said. "When you recovered the Muggles from Mr. Toppham's enchanted hedgerows, was there anything in their hands or pockets or on the ground nearby that they may have dropped?"

"There were several broken eggs on the pavement, and one had a roll of toilet paper in his jacket," the Auror admitted.

"Aha!" Harry exclaimed. "So, these two Muggle youths decided they fancied doing up old Mr. Toppham's house tonight, not knowing that he is a wizard with fairly ingenious and crafty defenses on his home to prevent attacks. One of them throws an egg, which the enchantments – perhaps a bit overeager – perceive as a threat and lash out against the attackers. A couple incompetent, brain-dead Aurors later, and here we are, with the clever Mr. Toppham before the Wizengamot because he defended his home too well."

The Auror who had led the investigation fumed at being called incompetent and brain-dead by this whelp, no matter how powerful he was, and wanted to object, but Dumbledore beat him to it.

"Be that as it may, Har- Head Potter, however inadvertently he may have meant it, there were two Muggles harmed by his enchantment."

"Muggles who wanted to vandalize his home," Harry retorted. "And who have suffered no permanent harm in the process, except maybe developing a subconscious fear of shrubberies. I propose a ten Galleon fine for the over-enthusiastic response of his home defense system and instruction to tweak the enchantment to only attack magical beings who seek to harm his home, and dismissal of the more serious charges."

Forrest took this as his cue to forestall further argument between Harry and Dumbledore.

"All those in favor of adopting Head Potter's proposed judgment?" Harry had garnered the support of nearly two-thirds of the members with his excoriation of the Auror investigation and the block-headedness of Dumbledore's faction.

"All opposed?" Dumbledore's group raised their hands high, but it was not enough.

"The ayes have it," Forrest announced. "Mr. Toppham, the Wizengamot finds you guilty of having an over-enthusiastic defense system and fines you ten Galleons for that offense. You are instructed to make modifications to the enchantment on your bushes to prevent it from attacking Muggles in the future. All other charges are dismissed. You are free to go." With the whack of his gavel, the shackles holding Toppham in place fell away and he rose, bowing to Forrest, the Wizengamot as a whole, and Harry before leaving. The two Aurors who had been guarding him followed at a more sedate pace, sending dark looks at Harry, who returned equally dark looks.

"Is there anyone else with business before the Wizengamot today?" Forrest asked. No one rose. "Then I declare this session closed. Minutes of the proceedings will be available in one hour at Wizengamot Administrative Services, with full transcripts available tomorrow morning. Order," he announced, whacking his gavel once more and rising, leaving first with the clerks. The rest of the Wizengamot followed him out, Harry being one of the last to leave, as the public galleries started to empty once the Wizengamot members had left.

As he expected, Draco and Hermione were two of the first out of the chambers.

"Most impressive, Harry," Draco said. "I think you've earned that date."

"What's this?" Harry asked, curious as to why Draco of all people was offering – though offering wasn't really the right word, since it was a statement that a date would happen instead of a question of would you like to go on one with me – to go on a date with him.

"Well, since I took Hermione to dinner while you were sorting out your Gringotts business, she insisted that it was only fair that you and I go out together in a similar fashion some time," Draco explained. "I was reluctant, but you deserve a reward for that performance."

"Fine then," Harry said. "We'll go for dinner…tonight? Tomorrow?"

"You can go tonight," Hermione said. "I've got a couple things I want to read in the Library tonight." And before either of them could say another word, Hermione had silently Disapparated from the Ministry.

"Well, I guess that settles that," Harry said. "Lead on, my lord."

This is the Fourth Linebreak

Albus Dumbledore was cursing up an uncommon storm in some of the more obscure languages he knew as he returned to his office in Hogwarts. The portraits of his predecessors covered their ears when he switched to Mermish as he threw his purple Wizengamot robes roughly into the wardrobe, not bothering to take proper care of them as he usually did. A house-elf would correct it later anyway.

Gordon Toppham's practical exoneration was at the top of his mind. A mere ten Galleon fine for what could have been a major breach of the Statute of Secrecy? It was absurd. Any number of witches and wizards would read about it in the Prophet tomorrow and promptly go out and enchant their own hedges to strangle their neighbors and expect to be punished just as leniently. What on Earth had Harry been thinking, to defend the man as he had? And why on Earth had the rest of the Wizengamot been so receptive to his argument?

Toppham had been a Slytherin forty years ago at Hogwarts, particularly gifted in Charms, Dumbledore recalled. A half-blood, his mother had been a witch from the Smith family and his father some sort of Muggle businessman, so there was nothing about him that particularly screamed 'DARK WIZARD' save for his House affiliation. It was not particularly surprising that he would choose to defend his home in such a fashion, for Voldemort had a particularly bothersome all-or-nothing approach to gaining supporters: if you weren't with him, you were his enemy; a status which was generally accompanied by a greatly reduced life expectancy.

Still, regardless of the intentions of the Muggle youths, the reaction of Toppham's enchanted hedge was inexcusable in Dumbledore's view, certainly not something that could be swept aside by a mere ten Galleon fine. Harry's proposal had been disgustingly equitable, punishing the man for the most minor offense possible while keeping him free and able to spread the word about the fairness Harry had shown.

A quick glance at his calendar showed that there were still two weeks to go before he would have Harry, as well as his two lovers (now there was a thought that made Dumbledore cringe like he'd just ingested a particularly sour lemon drop), back under his roof 24/7. He just hoped the boy would refrain from further spectacles.

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><p><em>AN 2: Blatant enough for you? Anywho, in Ch. 7, which may or may not get posted before October (I kid, it will definitely get posted before October), Draco and Harry have their date, wherein Draco has a mild panic attack and is dressed in tight pants (not necessarily in that order), and Harry tries to decide between fish and chips in Portsmouth and pizza in London.  
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_As always, please review! I appreciate hearing from everyone who reads this in(s)ane blather!  
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_-Phoenix II  
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	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Well, this one is much shorter than the previous one. But I am putting it up before October, but only because I more or less finished Ch. 8 last night. There's still a couple things I want to tack on to the end of it. Hopefully, in Ch. 9 we'll get back to Hogwarts and introduce Ron._

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><p>Harry and Draco had Apparated to the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, and while Draco had moved to open the gateway to the Alley, Harry had moved to enter the pub.<p>

"I don't consider a pub to be an acceptable dating venue, Potter," Draco said, grabbing Harry's arm.

"I'm not planning on staying in the pub," Harry said. "You took Hermione to a wizarding restaurant, I'm taking you Muggle."

Draco spluttered in protest.

"Besides, after this afternoon, I'm not keen on being accosted by every tosspot who bought a copy of the _Evening Prophet_. Now come on," Harry said, tugging Draco into the pub. They somehow managed to make it to the front door without incident.

"Now, we need to do something about our clothes," Harry said, leaning against his staff in thought. "Got it."

With a murmured word, he turned Draco's black robes into tight-fitting black denim jeans and a black silk button-down shirt with thin silver stripes running vertically across it, and his own (grey once again) robes into blue jeans, a grey t-shirt and a blue-and-white checkered shirt, which he left open. His staff shrunk to look like a (fairly) normal cane (though it did still have the silver metal bands running up and down it, as well as the emeralds at the top). Harry grinned and affected a limp as he opened the door and led Draco into Muggle London.

"Stop freaking out," he muttered to the blond as they walked down Charing Cross Road.

"You've gone completely mad," Draco muttered back as he looked wildly around at all the Muggles. "They'll catch us and burn us for sure!"

"You daft tosser, they're not looking for us. They're all trying to get home to their families for dinner, just like us. Now, what do you want to eat?"

"Dragon liver," Draco replied. "With mandrake-leaf salad and pumpkin juice."

"Well you're not going to find any of that here," Harry said. "I don't suppose you've ever had pizza?"

"Sounds foreign," Draco said with a haughty sniff.

"It is and it isn't," Harry said. "It's also delightfully plebeian."

"I don't suppose I have a say in the matter anymore, do I?" Draco asked resignedly.

"Nope," Harry agreed cheerfully. "Pizza place will be much easier to find here, though," he said. "My other option was Apparating us to Portsmouth to see if that wonderful fish and chip shop the Dursleys ate at while they were trying to keep my Hogwarts letter away from me is still in business."

"What was that?" Draco asked as Harry began walking with purpose towards a glowing sign he saw in the distance.

"What was what?" Harry asked, limping along.

"Those vile Muggles tried to keep your letter from you?" Draco asked.

"Oh, that," Harry said, not slowing up in the slightest. "Yes. It was kind of funny, really."

"I fail to find the humor," Draco replied, trying not to show how displeased he was by being constantly run-in-to by Muggles trying to keep up with Potter, who was moving surprisingly fast for someone who was limping.

"Well, it wasn't at the time, but now that I've got five years of hindsight on it, it's positively hilarious," Harry said as he pulled open the door to what looked to Draco like the embodiment of Muggle kitsch. Everything was either plastic or covered in plastic, even the "flowers", and the "artwork" was disturbingly common.

Draco surveyed the place with a look of unease and disdain on his face while Harry arranged for them to be seated in a quieter area of the raucous restaurant. Draco could see (and hear) several small children, one particularly large group of them wearing oddly-colored paper hats and singing "Happy Birthday" terribly out of tune. He absently followed Harry and the overly-peppy waitress to a small table near the back with a harsh electric light overhead, and only began paying attention once again when a plastic menu was shoved into his hands by Harry.

"Drink selection is on the back page," he said. "If you want alcohol, I'll have to Confund the waitress, mind."

"I don't suppose you could give me a recommendation?"

"Alcohol," said Harry. "Not that they have any worth drinking here. But Coke goes well with pizza too, particularly the kind I plan on ordering."

"I suppose I'll have that then," Draco said. "Now what are you going to be forcing in my mouth?"

Harry burst out laughing.

"Oh shut up, you know it's the other way round," Draco said. "What I was asking was what the make-up of this so-called 'food' is?"

"Well, there's a crust, which is the foundation of the whole thing, so that's kind of like bread, and then they put tomato sauce with a few spices added in on top of that, and then put shredded mozzarella cheese on top of that, along with whatever meat you've chosen. I picked sausage, because I'm fond of it, but there's a whole load of other options," Harry said.

"I'm not sure I'm going to like this," Draco said. "Spicy foods don't agree with my palate."

"On a scale of oatmeal to curry, this is far closer to oatmeal than it is to curry," Harry said. The waitress came back and Harry ordered two Cokes and a large sausage pizza. The plastic menus were taken away and Harry informed Draco as the drinks were brought over that they would have approximately a twenty minute wait for the food.

"So what did you and Hermione get up to on your date?" Harry asked.

"We talked, mainly," Draco said. "I decided I needed to know more than what I knew superficially about her, given our arrangements. She suggested it would be equally beneficial for me to do the same for you, despite my insistence that I already knew far too much about you."

"Well, this should be interesting," Harry said. "What do you know about me, Draco?"

"Short, scrawny, Grey, powerful, mischievous green eyes, permanently scruffy black hair, stupid scar on your forehead, orphan, nice tight arse, spoiled brat," Draco rattled off.

"Well, you're right on all but the last count," Harry said. "And the way you go to town on me, my arse won't be tight much longer."

"You're not a spoiled brat?"

"Contrary to what Snape believes, my home life was absolute rubbish. The muggles Dumbledore left me with kept me in a cupboard under the stairs until I turned 11," Harry said. Draco blanched.

"It gets worse," Harry said, holding up his hand. "I was a house-elf, for all intents and purposes, with the notable exception that I couldn't use magic to get everything they wanted me to do done."

"How could they treat you like a house-elf?" Draco asked. "Don't they know what you did?"

"They might, but since Voldemort never killed anyone they cared about, my vanquishing him mattered about as much to them as someone in Lancashire vanquishing a spider in their bath," Harry said. Draco was smart enough to pick up the implication that the Dursleys had not cared about Harry's parents.

"And you haven't cursed them all into oblivion why?"

"You know, the first time I visited Flourish and Blotts I was looking at a book on jinxes and curses that I intended to use on my cousin," Harry said. "And, I suppose, on his parents, though he was the worst to me. But Hagrid wouldn't let me buy it and then I found out I wasn't allowed to do magic over the summer, so it's been put on the wait-list."

"Bloody hell," Draco said. "So them trying to keep your letter from you?"

"Fits in perfectly with the model of them trying to keep me miserable and completely ignorant of my proper place. Also, they didn't want to have to part with their slave labor," Harry said with a scowl. "As it was, I could swear they did the minimum housework necessary to keep it from falling into complete disrepair while I was away just so I would have to do it all over the summer."

"Well, at least you can earn your keep around the house then," Draco said with a sniff and a grin. Harry swatted him with the paper napkin holding a knife and fork that the waitress had placed in front of each of them.

"Git. If you call me because you've broken the bathroom mirror because of your incessant preening rather than use a _Reparo_ on it, I'll make you regret it," Harry threatened.

"Please, Potter, you're terrible at threats."

"Maybe, but I'm not terrible at following through on them," Harry said. Draco decided to change the subject.

"How did they try to keep it from you?"

"Burned it, the first day," Harry said. "Then, when three came the next day, they got burned as well. Then shredded, and then when nearly a hundred came down the chimney, they just tossed me out of the room and shut the door. Ten minutes later we were off, since Uncle Vernon thought leaving the house would mean the letters wouldn't follow. But the next morning in Cokeworth, there were another hundred letters waiting for us at the inn. So Vernon, somehow having got it into his head that wizards couldn't cross water, took us to Portsmouth and rented this miserable shack on a rock in the middle of the sea. Thankfully, that was the night McGonagall or Dumbledore finally decided it was time to have someone deliver my letter in person, and sent Hagrid with it. The next day, I was in Diagon Alley, where I met this most priggish blond git in Madam Malkin's," he said, with a bemused glance at Draco with the end bit.

"I nearly kicked myself on the train when I saw that it was you that I'd met that day," Draco said. "Can you imagine what might have happened if we'd befriended each other that day? Or even if you'd taken my hand on the train?"

"I can," Harry said. "And I'm sure Dumbledore did as well, since no doubt Hagrid would have told him about our encounter. I probably would have ended up in Slytherin, been branded the new Dark Lord in the next day's _Prophet_, and if I somehow survived the first night in a house full of people whose families want me dead, I would have had to deal with a man as my Head of House who firmly believes that the sins of the father should be paid for by the son, and who would have contrived endless schemes to get me removed from his House at least, the school and my life at worst."

"Does Severus really hate you that much?" Draco asked.

"That much and more," Harry said. "Because he had it bad for my Mum, and sees me as an embodiment of everything he might have had, if he hadn't cocked it up with her at the end of their fifth year."

"Really? What'd he do?"

"Called her 'mudblood'," Harry said. "Undoubtedly something he picked up hanging out with the Death Eater crowd that had already infested Slytherin by the time he and my parents were attending school. There was only so much Mum could do to moderate their influence when she only could spend time with him openly during holidays. They lived near each other."

"Then he also knew your Aunt?"

"Undoubtedly," Harry said.

"Well then why would he think you were such a pampered, spoiled prince when he might have had at least an inkling as to how she would have reacted to being forced to take you in and raise you?" Draco asked, confused at his godfather/mentor/Head of House's take on Harry's formative years.

"Because he didn't want be to be anything other than James Potter redux," Harry said. "Brash, arrogant, causing mayhem on purpose and hexing anyone I didn't like. So he constructed a mental narrative about how my life would have been at the Dursleys to fit that image, and he's too prideful to consider that he was wrong about it, despite having seen glimpses of my actual existence there several times during our 'Remedial Potions' lessons last term."

"How would he have done that?"

"They were a cover for lessons in Occlumency," Harry said. "Rubbish, though, I didn't learn a thing except not to allow myself to be Legilimenced in the first place because it gives a terrible headache."

"You don't know Occlumency?" Draco asked.

"No," Harry said. "I doubt I could learn it, either. I'm much too hot-headed to calm myself enough to erect any sort of barrier around my mind."

"There's more than one way to skin a Kneazle," Draco said. At Harry's confused look, he elaborated. "There's more than one way to protect your mind. Severus was trying to get you to build barriers, and though that works for him, because he's a pensive, calculating man, you're right, you're much too temperamental for that method to work for you. But that's not to say that another method wouldn't. Diversion, for instance. It's what I use."

"Hold that thought," Harry said, as he saw the waitress approaching with the pizza out of the corner of his eye. It wouldn't do to have her overhearing any part of a Wizarding conversation, after all. She quickly came and deposited the pizza and two small plates in front of Harry and Draco before they assured her all was well, allowing her to flounce off to check on her other tables. A surreptitious movement of Harry's staff established a ward around the table that would result in Muggles being able to see Harry and Draco's actions at the table, but hear only perfectly normal things, like discussions about football and complaints about schoolwork.

"Now, you were saying?" Harry asked as he took the serving tool that had been slid underneath one of the slices and lifted it, pulling a slice of hot cheesy goodness free from the pizza and severing the stubborn strands of cheese with the dull knife he'd pulled from its paper holster before depositing it on his plate. He did the same for Draco before snatching a small dispenser of powdered parmesan cheese from next to the napkin dispenser at the other end of the table and shaking it all over his slice.

"Erm, I was talking about my own Occlumency method," Draco said, skeptically eyeing the still-steaming pizza slice.

"Right. Diversion. Tell me about it," Harry said, before taking a large bite from his slice of pizza and letting out a small pleasured moan, which made Draco even more uncomfortable, because he'd only heard Potter moan like that in bed, and was slightly put-off at the thought that food could bring the Gryffindor as much pleasure as he could.

"Well, erm, when I'm being Legilimenced, I let them find a bunch of useless memories," Draco said. "Like History of Magic classes, and while they rifle through those, I build up a counter-attack and throw them out of my mind."

"Interesting," Harry said. "Do you think you could teach me, so that I don't have to go with my current plan of cutting runes into my head to ward it against Legilimency probes?"

"I could try," Draco offered. "I'm sure Hermione could find a book with some other options too."

"Well, she struck out last year, but there might be some in the Restricted Section or the Black house," Harry said. "Eat your pizza."

Draco cautiously took the slice on his plate in hand and nibbled off the tip. It wasn't orgasmic, as Harry seemed to think, and it certainly wasn't dragon liver with mandrake-leaf salad, but it was alright.

HEY LOOK A LINEBREAK

"Now," Harry said, once the pair had finished the pizza. "We still have two weeks before Hogwarts term starts, and I want to do one last thing before then that will be sure to piss Dumbledore off royally."

"What would that be, then?" Draco asked.

"Exonerate Sirius Black," Harry said, completely serious.

"Why?" Draco asked.

"Because he was innocent and Dumbledore did nothing to help him prove it while he was still alive," Harry said.

"Do you have a how, yet?" Draco asked.

"Oh yes. A full public inquiry," Harry said. "I'll lead it, and the two lovely people I sat next to earlier have agreed to fill out the panel. I'll haul Fudge, Dumbledore, Millie Bagnold before the inquiry to explain how Sirius ended up in Azkaban in the first place, and then bring in Hermione and Remus Lupin to give evidence of what we discovered at the end of my third year."

"Well, receiving a subpoena to give evidence will no doubt distress him a great deal," Draco said. "Not as much as actually giving it probably will, especially if you ask the right questions."

"The same with Fudge, I imagine," Harry said. "Bagnold, well…I'm not sure how much she actually had to do with it, but since Barty Crouch is dead and she was Minister at the time, she bears at least some responsibility."

"True," Draco said. "So when do you plan on holding this inquiry?"

"Monday," Harry said simply. "The owls will go out tomorrow. Now, let's go home and see what Hermione managed to get up to while we were out."

"And let's get up to some things ourselves, eh?" Draco asked as Harry tossed some Muggle money on the table.

ANOTHER LINEBREAK

Albus Dumbledore wasn't completely unused to receiving owls from the Wizengamot Administrative Service on a Friday morning. But opening this one, he spat his tea over the collected parchments on his desk.

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,_

_You are being notified that you are required to appear to give evidence to the Inquiry into the Sirius Black case. The Inquiry will begin Monday at 0830, in Courtroom Six at the Ministry of Magic, London. Please make every effort to arrive 30 minutes prior. You may bring legal counsel if you wish._

_Sincerely,_

_H. J. Potter_

_Presiding Judge_

So much for Potter staying out of trouble for the rest of the break. The brat had convened an Inquiry into his Godfather's case? What he hoped to accomplish with it, Dumbledore couldn't fathom, as Black was thankfully dead now. Perhaps there was a complication with the Black accounts as a result of the Ministry believing him a criminal.

He also wondered who else had been subpoenaed. He and Barty Crouch had been the ones responsible for confining Black to Azkaban with his cousins in the first place, and now Crouch was dead at the hands of his Death Eater son (who was also conveniently dead). Perhaps Lupin, the youngest Weasley boy and Granger?

At least Potter had no means to force him to tell the truth about how Black had ended up in Azkaban in 1981. That was a story best never told, and he fully intended never to tell it. It would require a great deal of lying, but he felt confident he would be able to dump most of the blame for Black's incarceration on Crouch who, being dead, would be unable to give contradicting evidence. Hopefully, Potter would chalk Black's 12 years in Azkaban to an unfortunate misunderstanding and drop the matter after formally clearing him of any wrongdoing in the Manchester explosion.

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><p><em>AN: Ch. 8 will, of course, focus on the Inquiry itself. Not being a Brit, my knowledge of the process is gleaned entirely from Wikipedia and might not be entirely accurate as a result. Expect it sometime around Halloween.  
><em>

_Until then, please review and let me know what you think!  
><em>

_-Phoenix II  
><em>


	8. Chapter 8

_The Daily Prophet_

_**INQUIRY INTO SIRIUS BLACK CASE TO BE HELD**_

_Wizengamot sources have informed us that newly-confirmed Wizengamot member Harry Potter is wasting no time taking advantage of the powers and perks his position grants him by launching an inquiry into the case of the recently-deceased fugitive Sirius Black._

_Black, a former close friend of Potter's father, was imprisoned for 12 years in Azkaban after being caught killing Peter Pettigrew and 12 Muggles with a Dark curse in Manchester City Centre on 2 November 1981. At the time, it was believed Black had done so after becoming unhinged by the death of his Dark Master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, at the hands of Potter two days previously, as Black had gone around advertising himself as the only one who knew where the Potters were hiding and expected that by giving the Dark Lord the location he would be rewarded once the Dark Wizard took total control of Britain._

_Three years ago, Black escaped Azkaban using unknown means, prompting a nationwide manhunt that quietly diminished over the past two years to a small team of Aurors fielding tips on sightings of Black from various far-flung foreign locations._

_The lead Auror of that team, Kingsley Shacklebolt, was unavailable for comment on the inquiry._

_Potter, in a statement announcing the inquiry, gave as a primary reason for holding it that "there are numerous discrepancies in the case, which was never heard by the Wizengamot. I think it is important that the true facts of the case are established in the public record, so that the House of Black can have closure over their late Head of House."_

_Assisting Potter at the Inquiry will be Wizengamot members Martevious Withers and Annabel Harbottle. A partial witness list leaked to the _Prophet_ reveals that Potter has summoned Albus Dumbledore and former Minister Millicent Bagnold to give evidence._

_The inquiry begins today at 0830 in Courtroom Six at the Ministry of Magic._

LOOK A LINEBREAK

"Order," Harry instructed, whacking the gavel that came standard at the Presiding Judge's raised seat on the dais in Courtroom Six. Decked out in his not-quite-royal purple Wizengamot robes and mitre (because not even Wizards were egotistical enough to assume the color worn by royalty since the Roman Empire), and flanked by two aged associates in the same, there was no doubt this was a gathering to be taken seriously.

"Welcome one and all," and there were quite a few comprising the 'all', as the public gallery was full and people were eyeing the reserved witness seats greedily, "to the Public Inquiry into the matter of Sirius Black. For the record: Presiding Judge Harry James Potter, Associate Judges Martevious Withers and Annabel Harbottle. Scribe Reginald Fox," Harry said, nodding to each of the other staff in turn. He was pleased to see that Fox had brought plenty of parchment. He would definitely need it.

"The purpose of today's gathering is to investigate both the particulars of the accusations against the late Sirius Black as well as the Government's mismanagement of the case, both back in 1981 and again since 1993," Harry said. "Mr. Fox, has the Department of Law Enforcement produced the documents I subpoenaed?"

"Yes sir," Fox replied, holding up a file bound in red tape and stamped with the Ministry's seal.

"Excellent," Harry said, Summoning the file to himself before touching the capstone of his staff to the seal, breaking it and snapping the red tape binding the file. Inside was an arrest report, the Senior Auror's report on the Manchester explosion, and an Order of Incarceration, signed by Bartemius Crouch, Senior and Millicent Bagnold.

"Is Madame Millicent Bagnold here?" Harry asked. A thin woman with severe facial features and grey hair worn up in a bun rose from the witness gallery, two seats over from Dumbledore, who looked quite disgruntled at being there, which made Harry smile.

"Wonderful. Please come forward and take the Oath the Auror will present you," Harry said. The Auror acting as the bailiff for the inquiry met Bagnold at the Witness Chair and presented her with a sheet of parchment. After fishing a pair of spectacles from her handbag, Bagnold read the parchment with an ever-deepening frown before removing her wand from her robe and holding it in her right hand.

"I, Milicent Eileen Bagnold do hereby swear on my honor as a Witch to cooperate fully with the Inquiry by answering fully any questions asked of me and producing any documents requested by any of the Judges," she said, sitting down immediately afterwards without Harry offering the seat.

"Very well," Harry said. "Let's get straight to it. Madame, on 2 November 1981, what was your job?"

"I was the Minister for Magic of the United Kingdom," Bagnold replied.

"Who first made you aware of the Manchester Incident involving Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew?"

"Barty Crouch Senior."

"When?"

"Late in the afternoon."

"And what did he tell you?"

"The base particulars of the case," Bagnold said. "That two wizards had decided to duel in the middle of the city, and that one of them had cast a curse that had killed the other, as well as blowing up a good chunk of the road, killing twelve Muggles in the process, but that the DMLE had apprehended the caster of the curse, while DOMAC had repaired the damage to the road and Obliviated all the Muggle witnesses."

"Did he say who the DMLE had apprehended?"

"Sirius Black."

"Did he present any evidence to you that Black had cast the curse?"

"He did not," she said.

"Then why, may I ask, did you agree to counter-sign this Order of Incarceration for Sirius Black?" Harry asked. "An Order, I may add, that is dated for the same day his alleged crime took place, and certainly much too fast for him to have been tried and convicted beforehand."

"Because he was the survivor of a magical duel that had ended with multiple deaths. He was obviously guilty of something," Bagnold stated.

"And this justifies violating his civil rights?" Harry asked. "Every subject of the Crown has the right to a trial, Madame."

"I was unaware his civil rights were being violated," Bagnold replied. "Barty's Council of Magical Law was quite capable of holding a complete trial and rendering a verdict within the amount of time that elapsed between the incident and his meeting with me. I signed the Order assuming that he'd gotten another of the quick convictions he was famed for."

It was going about as Draco had warned Harry it would: with Crouch dead and unable to testify himself, both Bagnold and Dumbledore would attempt to throw him under the bus as a scapegoat for their own failings in the case.

"Even though as the Heir to an Ancient and Noble House his case could not be heard by any lesser tribunal than the full Wizengamot?" Winters asked.

"The Law Enforcement Act 1978 granted the Council of Magical Law wide-ranging powers to try Death Eaters, regardless of their familial ties," Bagnold replied.

"Recalling the Act as I do," Harbottle countered, speaking up for the first time. Harry let him, because he knew more about the Wizengamot of the time. "Those powers still did not extend to the Heir him or herself of our Ancient and Noble Houses, and especially not to the Head of House, which Sirius was that day, despite not having officially taken up the duties of the office, since his father had died the year previously."

As that was not a question, Bagnold had no reply, merely refusing to meet the eyes of the panel.

"So we are to take it that you were merely incompetent or willfully ignorant instead of malicious in your actions in this matter?" Harry asked.

Bagnold, though she clearly did not want to answer the insulting question, finally replied "If you wish, my Lord, I cannot stop you."

"You're dismissed," Harry said. "Cornelius Oswald Fudge, please come forward."

Fudge, looking the least pleased of all the witnesses at being there, slowly made his way down to the Chair and sullenly swore the Oath before being seated.

"Minister, what was your occupation on 2 November 1981?"

"I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"Our records show that you were a member of the response team to the Manchester Incident, is that correct?"

"Yes it is," Fudge said.

"Can you tell us what you saw when you arrived on the scene?"

"It was terrible," Fudge recalled. "There was a fifteen-meter wide crater in the middle of the street, and there were body parts and blood everywhere. Our examination determined a _Confringo_ blasting curse had blown through the road and struck a gas line, which detonated in a large explosion. And just about three meters from the epicenter was Sirius Black, and he was laughing like someone had just told him the funniest joke in the world."

"Did your examination determine who cast the blasting curse?" Harry asked.

"No," Fudge said. "That would have required checking the wands of the two duelists, and the DMLE confiscated Black's when they arrested him. We never found Pettigrew's."

"I see," Harry said. "What happened after you determined the cause of the explosion?"

"We figured out how many people had been killed, piecing the bodies together as best we could. Evidently Pettigrew took the worst of the blast, because save for a finger, there wasn't anything left of him, not even any bloody or tattered robes."

"Did you find that unusual?" Harry asked. "In my experience, limited though it has been, spells such as the various blasting curses leave much more of their victims than that?"

"Well, what else remained might have been incinerated by the fire from the gas explosion," Fudge said. "At least, that's what I theorized in my report. It should be attached to the Incident Report from the Auror Office," he added. Harry took the document in question from the folder and turned a couple of pages, skimming over Fudge's mercifully brief report.

"So it is. Very well, let us move forward to June 1993, by which time you had become Minister for Magic. How did you first learn of Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban?"

"The Warden alerted me," Fudge answered. "He told me that the prison's wards had determined that there was one fewer prisoner than there should be, so he did some rounds to try and see who had died when he found Black's cell empty."

"And what was your reaction?"

"I panicked, naturally," Fudge said. "And then ordered a search for him. At Director Bones' suggestion, I contacted the Muggle Prime Minister to enlist the Muggles help in searching for Black, being extra careful to leave out any reference to our world."

"When did you give the order for Dementors to Kiss Black on sight?" Harry asked.

"That would be in late November of that same year, after multiple reports of Black lurking about the Hogsmeade area and even breaking into some houses," Fudge replied.

"And where in your job description does it say, Minister, that you are allowed to order summary executions?"

Fudge turned an impressive shade of red. "Er, well, you see, it's not so much in the job description, per se," he stammered.

"I should think not," Harry said. "Though you in particular haven't ever been very fussy about following proper procedures when it comes to imposing arbitrary sentences on people, have you Fudge?"

"I haven't the faintest idea of what you're talking about, my Lord," Fudge said, trying to look indignant and failing rather spectacularly.

"Oh?" Harry asked. "Well, roughly nine months prior to your extra-judicial execution order, you ordered a man incarcerated in Azkaban without trial, or even formal charges based on suspicions, and held him there for over four months. Do you recall that?"

"Yes, but I had to do it!" Fudge protested. "I was receiving dozens of owls demanding that I take action, and that was even before reading the Letters to the Editor in the _Prophet_."

Both of Harry's assistant judges looked scandalized, as did a good portion of the gallery.

"Oh," Harry said. "I suppose this is the politician's version of the crup ate my transfiguration essay defense: the public made me do it. So what you're saying, Cornelius, is that if I were to be bombarded with owls demanding your execution, I could go up to your office and blast you to bits with impunity because the public wanted me to act?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying, blast it!" Fudge said. "I'm supposed to be doing what is best for every witch and wizard in the country, and if that means some half-breed has to spend a few months in Azkaban or a couple criminals get their souls sucked out, those are acceptable losses."

"Even when doing so erodes the fundamental principles our Government is based on?" Harry asked. "I suppose the Ministry turning into a radical dictatorship would constitute an acceptable loss to you, so long as you were still in charge of it. You, too, are dismissed from the witness stand. But don't be surprised if you're dismissed from something else in the very near future."

"Are you threatening me, Potter?" Fudge asked in a cold voice as he stepped down from the witness chair.

"Fudge, on your best day you pose about as much threat to me as the peacock Mr. Fox's quill came from does right now," Harry replied in an equally frosty tone. "Get out of my inquiry, you blunderbuss. Fox, that last exchange is off the record."

"Yes sir," the scribe replied, scratching through a few lines on his parchment.

"Next we have Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," Harry said. "Professor, if you would please come down and swear in?"

Dumbledore did so, looking as if he'd sucked on a particularly sour lemon drop.

"Professor, what were your jobs on 2 November 1981?"

"Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Head of the Order of the Phoenix and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot."

"On 2 November 1981, were you, in your capacity as Chief Warlock, summoned to preside over a trial for Sirius Black?"

"I was not."

"When were you even made aware of Black's arrest and incarceration?" Harry asked.

"Late that evening," Dumbledore replied.

"By whom?"

"Bartemius Crouch, Senior," Dumbledore replied. "He firecalled me and informed me that Black had been arrested for the murder of a wizard and twelve Muggles and had been sentenced to life in Azkaban."

"Were you familiar with Sirius Black?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said.

Harry let a brief flicker of frustration appear on his face. The Headmaster was deliberately offering zero information. Harry had expected he would delay and drag his questioning out as long as he possibly could, but he hadn't anticipated that the Headmaster would be so adamant in obfuscating the proceedings.

"How?"

"He had been a particularly active student at Hogwarts, from which he had graduated three years previously holding the school record for number of accumulated detentions," Dumbledore said.

"Did you know him after his school days?"

"He was a member of the Order," Dumbledore admitted after a couple moments' pause.

"Was he a valuable member?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Dumbledore said. "He was certainly an excellent duelist, and his knowledge of the families serving the Enemy provided valuable insights."

"So he was an asset to you during the War?"

"Yes."

"What was your reaction to learning of the accusations against him?"

"I was floored," Dumbledore said. "But I can't say I was entirely surprised."

"Explain," Harry ordered. He had a suspicion what Dumbledore was about to bring up. He would not be disappointed.

"During his sixth year, Black attempted to sic a werewolf on a fellow student."

"And that led you to believe him capable of mass murder?" Dumbledore turned red.

"It made me slightly less skeptical of the accusation," he conceded.

"Very well. Did you ask Mr. Crouch who had presided over Mr. Black's trial, since you clearly had not?"

"I did not," Dumbledore admitted.

"Did you ask him to see the transcript of the trial?"

"I did. He said there had been no trial, but that Black had confessed to the murder of Pettigrew and to being complicit in Lord Voldemort's murder of James and Lily Potter."

"Did he offer to show you the confession?"

"He did not," Dumbledore said.

"Why, then, Professor, did you not uphold both the law and your Oath as Chief Warlock and convene a trial for Black?"

Dumbledore was silent for a very long moment. In fact, Harry was about to force him to answer with his Oath before he finally opened his mouth once again. Harry leaned forward, interested in hearing this excuse.

"Because Barty and Minister Bagnold would never have agreed to remove him from Azkaban even for the brief amount of time a trial would have taken," he said. "I deemed it wasn't worth the political capital I would have had to expend to overrule them."

Harry, his co-panelists, and the entirety of both Galleries were shocked into silence.

"Despicable. Utterly despicable," Harbottle murmured.

"I quite agree," Harry said, and Withers nodded his own agreement. "Though I do see his point; since Crouch and Bagnold already had an Order of Incarceration in effect, it would require more effort than it would have been expedient to exert on a presumed Death Eater in 1981, particularly after he had already fought so hard to prevent Severus Snape's incarceration."

Dumbledore sagged in relief.

"I'm not excusing your behavior, Professor, don't get any ideas," Harry said. "Your behavior was despicable and utterly reprehensible. I understand your reluctance to agitate for a trial for Black at the time, but why not in 1993, upon his recapture at Hogwarts?"

"I was again in a situation similar to the one I just laid out," Dumbledore said.

"Perhaps, Dumbledore, you are far too much a politician to have ever been Chief Warlock, if you're so willing to let political concerns get between you and seeing justice done," Harry chided. "Even so, overturning an illegal Execution Order signed by one high-ranking buffoon is far easier than overturning an illegal Incarceration Order signed by two."

Dumbledore noticed the lack of question in Harry's statement and remained silent. Harry exchanged quiet looks with his panel before dismissing Dumbledore and summoning Snape to the Chair.

Snape ground out the Oath and planted himself in the Chair with a sneer on his face, clearly anticipating the questions he would be asked.

"Professor Severus Snape, can you tell us what happened on the night of 6 June 1994?" Harry asked. Snape's sneer became a scowl, while the rest of the room (save Remus, Hermione and the still-lurking Dumbledore) wondered where this line of questioning was going.

"I captured Sirius Black in Hogsmeade, only to have him escape from confinement in Hogwarts while awaiting the Dementor's Kiss," Snape answered. Harry smiled a predator's smile as Snape followed Dumbledore's example of giving the bare minimum answer the Oath required.

"How did you capture Black?"

"While delivering a potion to Professor Lupin, I observed Black on the grounds by means of a magical artifact in Lupin's possession. I saw him disappear into a secret passage, and, knowing where that passage leads, pursued. I found Black in the Shrieking Shack and attempted to apprehend him before being attacked by two Confunded students, allowing Black to escape. I pursued again and followed a swarm of Dementors into the Forbidden Forest where Black and one of the students he had as a hostage were attempting to fight them off. I produced my own Patronus and drove off the Dementors, rescued the student and bound Black."

Harry figured it spoke to Snape's skill in Occlumency that he was able to lie so convincingly. He did appreciate, though, that Snape was taking care not to name any of the students involved.

"At any point during that night was the issue of Black's guilt mentioned?"

"The students seemed quite convinced that Black was innocent, but since they had been Confunded, I disregarded it," Snape said.

"How could you tell the students had been Confunded?" Harry asked, quite keen on hearing this answer because he had been one of the students supposedly Confunded by Sirius.

"They believed Black innocent, something nobody would believe without being under some spell. Since they were not glassy-eyed like an Imperius Curse victim, I deduced they had been Confunded," Snape stated.

"Did Black have a wand to perform any mind-altering spellwork?" Harry asked.

"He did not," Snape said, not even grudgingly admitting to having fabricated his 'deduction' out of whole cloth.

"Then how did he perform three Confundus charms?" Harry asked.

"I cannot say," Snape said. "But Black was always an ingenious miscreant, if anyone besides Professor Dumbledore could pull off such a feat I would quickly wager money on Black."

"One final question, Professor," Harry said. "As convinced as you are of Black's guilt, did it ever enter your mind to question the possibility of his innocence that night?"

"No. Sirius Black deserved Azkaban, and he received all the punishments put off from his Hogwarts days in the Department of Mysteries," Snape said. Harry frowned.

"You are dismissed."

Hermione and Remus gave their testimony next, presenting the true versions of what had happened that night. Ripples of shock and astonished whispers had permeated the crowd at Hermione's testimony about Peter Pettigrew's reappearance and confession to the crimes Sirius had been accused of and imprisoned for. She had shared a wry grin with Harry as she referred to him in the third person in the telling of their time-travel adventure.

After their testimony finished, Harry announced a five-minute recess to confer with his co-judges as to whether he really could do what he planned to do next. When they assured him he could, he gaveled the inquiry back to order.

"We have heard today some testimony from our country's highest and most esteemed leaders," he began. "Testimony that disturbed us on the deepest levels. Testimony of willful ignorance of a thousand years' worth of tradition and precedent. Testimony of personal and moral failings of people trusted to govern this country and educate its children. Testimony that shows a great injustice was fostered on Sirius Black fifteen years ago, perpetuated by inaction on the part of several people over that time, and deepened after his self-release from prison three years ago.

"Based on the testimony given at this Inquiry, I declare Sirius Black innocent of all charges levied against him in November 1981 and July 1993 and order his record expunged. An arrest warrant is to be issued for Peter Pettigrew on charges of treason, murder, and attempted murder. Any witch or wizard with knowledge of Peter Pettigrew's whereabouts who does not immediately notify the DMLE should expect charges of accessory to his crimes to follow should their silence be discovered. A full report with the findings and recommendations of this panel will be prepared for the next session of the Wizengamot. We stand adjourned," he said, whacking his gavel one last time before proceeding from the Courtroom.

IS THIS A LINEBREAK? WHY YES, YES IT IS

Albus Dumbledore downed his fifth tumbler of firewhiskey and pulled a Headache Relief Potion from a stash in one of his lower desk drawers, knocking it back with the practiced ease of all of his 115 years. His appearance before Potter's kangaroo court of an Inquiry had been most trying, and he had good reason to fear that the worst was yet to come.

Someone, Malfoy no doubt, had given Harry a crash course in interpreting the weasel-words of politicians, which had allowed the impertinent brat to parse through his stalling tactics and attempts to slide the blame on the departed Barty Crouch Senior with pointed questions that forced him to give answers that painted him in a particularly bad light.

Then the brat had found the gall to _chide_ him and _lecture_ him on his job and duties, when he had abandoned his own duties to the Light to roll in the hay with Draco sodding Malfoy. He had no doubt he would fare worse in the final report. Harry would no doubt scheme and get the Wizengamot to find him in violation of his oaths. He probably faced censure, which while of no real legal consequence, would be another serious blow to his reputation.

Perhaps he would give Severus a little additional leeway with Potter this term. He almost missed Umbridge: constant detentions/torture sessions might be just what the Healer ordered for Potter right now.

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><p><em>AN: So, here is Ch. 8, despite no reviews for Ch. 7 I will keep my promise and upload this before Halloween. 62 followers and no reviews makes me a sad writer :(_

_I have started work on Ch. 9, in which the Trio finally get to go to Hogwarts, and there will be interesting (hopefully) chats with Neville, Ron and Ginny. Reviews might get me to write faster, but I wouldn't expect it before Thanksgiving.  
><em>

_-Phoenix II  
><em>


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Hey look, it's after Thanksgiving! In fact, it's 2 weeks until Christmas. This chapter took forever to write, until I started writing Luna. I've never written Luna as a character before, and it was interesting enough to re-inspire my brain to focus on this story again. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

><p>September 1 saw three sixteen-year-olds silently Apparate onto Platform 9 and 34, unnoticed entirely by the bustling witches and wizards thanks to the lack of noise announcing their arrival. Pulling their trunks along behind them, they made their way onto the forward-most car not reserved for Prefects, where they stowed their luggage.

"Alright, you two get to the Prefects' carriage," Harry said. "I'll wait for you and put up a Weasley-deflecting ward. We don't want that 'conversation' to happen here."

"You're forgetting, Potter, that the particularly gittish one is a Prefect, and there's no way of knowing that Dumbledore didn't make the Weaselette a Prefect for her year as well," Draco said. Harry smirked.

"Do you really think I forgot to account for that? Both of them will be deflected from speaking to you until we reach Hogwarts, I promise," he said, and they felt the tingle of his magic wash over them. Hermione shivered.

"I didn't know you could ward a person like that," she said.

"Technically, I just warded your robes," Harry replied. "It's temporary, only until we get to Hogwarts, though I could probably sew the runes on there to make it permanent if things go badly."

"Break out your sewing kit tonight then," Draco said. "It will go badly."

"Stop being such a pessimist," Hermione reproached him as they left Harry alone in the compartment to join the Prefects. Harry, for his part, cast the ward once again on the door to his compartment and waited for his friends to turn up. He snickered as Ron was forcibly moved past the compartment five times before he took the hint and fumed off towards the Prefects' Carriage. Ginny, he noted, got it immediately and headed off in search of another place to sit, meaning she hadn't been made Prefect. Idly, he wondered why; it wasn't like she was a major rule-breaker, as far as he knew, although being possessed by Lord Voldemort was perhaps enough of a black mark to prevent her selection. He wondered how disappointed Mrs. Weasley had been.

"What's got Ron in such a tizzy?" Neville Longbottom asked as he slid open the compartment door with no issues to sit across from Harry.

"I warded the compartment against him and Ginny," Harry said. "I really don't want to talk to them here."

"Why not?"

"Ron is less-than-likely to be pleased about Hermione's and my current living arrangements," Harry said. "Ardent Slytherinophobe that he is."

"What makes you think he won't just confront Hermione and Malfoy in the Prefects' Meeting?" Neville asked. Harry grinned.

"I warded their robes the same way. He'll be forced to ignore them until we get to Hogwarts," he said.

"When did you become such a proficient warder? And how did you make an anti-Weasley ward anyway?"

"I told my magic what I wanted and I cast a spell," Harry said. "It's more about my intent than any specific spells, really."

"Oh," Neville said, rather uncomfortable. There was about a minute's worth of awkward silence before the Longbottom Heir spoke again.

"So how are your current living arrangements, if you don't mind me asking?"

"They're good," Harry said. "I've never slept in a King-sized bed, much less with two other people, but it's surprisingly spacey."

"Just sleeping?" Neville teased his dormmate. Harry barely flushed.

"Of course not, Neville, we're unsupervised teenagers," he replied. "There's not a night that goes by that we don't shag at least twice before bed and at least once before breakfast."

"That might be what the Muggles call T.M.I, Harry Potter," a dreamy voice came from the entrance to the compartment. Luna Lovegood stood in the threshold, radish earrings dangling while she stared at him with her head tilted slightly to the left. "Congratulations on your Choosing."

"Thank you," Harry said, waving her into the compartment and shutting the door again behind her with a wave of his hand.

"How'd you do that?" Neville asked.

"Subterfuge," Harry replied. "You didn't notice, but my other hand was grasping my staff, which provided the actual magic to close the door. The hand I waved did nothing but wave."

"A most impressive trick," Luna noted. "It's nice to see Draco Malfoy has managed to bugger some seriousness out of you."

"Now who's giving out T.M.I?" Harry retorted. "I think you've broken poor Neville."

"He'll get over it," Luna said, not even bothering to look at the older Gryffindor boy as she conjured a small jug filled with water over his head and overturned it, breaking Neville out of his stupor with spluttering accusations.

"Do calm down, Neville, it's only water," the Ravenclaw replied to his incoherent questions. "You should hardly be surprised at that revelation, anyway. Those with eyes could see this relationship coming years ago, though perhaps not the specific circumstances that brought it together."

"How did you see Draco, Hermione and I getting together?" Harry asked, curious.

"Well, with you and Hermione, she's clearly the most important woman in your life. You don't trust any other females as much as you do her, and it would take something serious to break you apart and prevent any romantic feelings from coming to the forefront. It likely would have happened this year for you two, and once that happened Draco's long-harbored feelings for you would have snapped and he would have forced his way into your romantic life," the Ravenclaw said matter-of-factly. "Appearances aside, I'm sure he's a wonderful top. Do you enjoy your joinings?"

"Well, yes, he's rather fantastic," Harry said. "Hermione agrees, apparently, though as far as I know they've only been alone together once. Joinings?"

"Intercourse is such a dreadfully clinical word, and you can't really call male-on-male sex copulation because there is no chance of procreation. Since you are joined by the act, joining is an apt descriptive word."

Harry stared at her for a moment, head quirked to the right. She, in response, quirked hers to the left and stared back.

"Merlin I'm glad I'm not in Ravenclaw," Harry finally said.

"Ravenclaw is glad you aren't in her either," Luna replied. "But that's because she hasn't seen you naked and doesn't believe what Myrtle said she saw in the Prefect's Bath two years ago."

Neville groaned. "Please stop before I have to drink all of Seamus' contraband firewhiskey tonight to forget about this conversation."

"Do you not find the ghost population's opinion of Harry's genitalia fascinating?" Luna asked, before tsk'ing Neville. "Gryffindors. So limited."

The conversation was mercifully stopped temporarily by the train's departure from King's Cross. When Neville resumed it, it was on a topic he was certain neither Harry nor Luna would be able to turn into further discussion of Harry's sex life or genitalia.

He was, naturally, wrong.

"So was it weird, having an ice pop there?" Luna asked.

"Not as weird as you might think," Harry said, ignoring Neville who had gone to banging his head against the windowsill in a half-hearted attempt to knock himself unconscious. "The oddest bit is the difference in temperature, and you have to make sure to have an ever-cool and a preservation charm on it so it doesn't melt."

"Naturally," Luna said. "And you said this was something you picked up in the Muggle world?"

"I heard a couple people discussing it on a bus once," Harry said. "I was a combination of confused, aroused, and horrified."

"Yes, because for Muggles it would always melt, which would be very sticky and awkward for later activity," Luna said.

"Exactly," Harry said, before the conversation was interrupted once again by a knock on the compartment door.

"Hello, Harry, Luna…why is Neville trying to knock himself out?" Hermione asked once Harry released his magical lock on the door.

"They won't stop talking about the weird things you three get up to in bed," Neville helpfully supplied. "Please make them stop."

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione exclaimed, drawing her wand and sending a series of Stinging Hexes at the young Grey, three of which connected and drew yelps of pain from Harry before he managed to shield himself from the rest of them. Hermione stormed all the way into the compartment and shut the door behind her, glaring Harry into submission before turning a kinder expression towards Neville.

"I'm so sorry, Neville. Would you like me to Obliviate you of the conversation or merely look the other way while you raid Seamus' trunk tonight?"

Neville's eyes widened at the offer of Obliviation. Given what had happened to his parents, the idea of someone meddling with his mind was quite off-putting. Not to mention a small part of him wanted to keep some of the images Harry and Luna's conversation had placed within his brain.

"The latter," he squeaked out. Harry grinned a knowing grin behind Hermione's back, while the Light Lady merely said, "If you're sure," before taking a seat next to Harry.

"Where's Draco?" Harry asked.

"He's doing his rounds, supposedly with Ron but Weaselbee hasn't been able to get within ten feet of us and every time he opened his mouth to shout nothing came out," Hermione said. Harry's grin became a full-blown smile.

"Excellent. And Ickle Gin-Gin didn't turn up to be a Prefect, right? I saw her heading the opposite way from Ronnie when they got bounced away from the door."

"No, she's not. I imagine Molly was most disappointed."

"Well, I never heard any berating shrieks from my house, so she can't have been too upset," Luna offered.

"So, who's excited for another delightful school year?" Harry asked.

"I wouldn't imagine you," Neville said. "Dumbledore and Snape are undoubtedly going to do their best to make your life even more difficult unless you submit to the Headmaster's will again, and that's not even accounting for the reaction you'll get from the student body for pulling both Draco and Hermione."

"I only submit to one man," Harry said. "And it sure as hell isn't Dumbledore or Snape."

"Aren't you a little worried, though?" Neville asked.

"No," Harry said. "Neither of them are any real threat to me, and I've got a plan that will see Voldemort gone by the end of the year."

"Really?" Neville asked.

"Really," Harry said. "He has to be dealt with this year so I can really enjoy at least one of my years at Hogwarts."

"And by enjoy, you mean…"

"Enjoy, of course," Harry said. "Of course, I know the Expansion Charm and the exact number of broom cupboards in Hogwarts, so how I go about enjoying might be different from how you would."

"You can say that again," Neville mumbled. "Why can't you just prank the Slytherins endlessly like Fred and George?"

"Because I'm shagging one of them, Neville my lad, and it would be incredibly rude of me to exempt him from the prank, but doing so might lose me sex privileges. You see my dilemma," Harry said.

"No, because there's only two Slytherins I would even consider putting myself in your shoes for, and both of them are already contracted," Neville countered.

The rest of the trip to Scotland was filled with similar banter, until Luna accused Harry of behaving like Captain Jack Harkness, which shut him up because he didn't want to draw any similarities between himself and a fictional character who killed space aliens with handguns and shagged Welsh tea boys. On the other hand, the immortality was a plus, but it didn't offset the Welsh-tea-boy-shagging.

Draco rejoined them as they were crossing the border, while Hermione left to take her turn roaming the train in search of mischief and misbehavior.

When they arrived at Hogsmeade, Draco and Harry reunited with Hermione and along with Neville and Luna quickly found a carriage to bring them up to the castle. This year everyone could see the Thestrals, an event which was marked soberly and not commented on further.

Crossing over the threshold of Hogwarts, through the great wooden doors and into the Entrance Hall, Harry froze upon seeing what was between him and the Great Hall: a highly incensed Ron Weasley, with a nervous Ginny behind him.

"What the Hell d'you think you're playing at, Potter?"

"I beg your pardon, Prefect?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowed and his voice cool.

"What in Merlin's name possessed you to kidnap Hermione and force her to shack up with you and that ruddy snake Malfoy?" the redhead asked, looming over Harry, who was mentally cursing the Dursleys for ensuring his short stature. "How could you turn her into a brood mare for you and your Dark pouf butt buddy?"

Now both Draco and Hermione's eyes narrowed, and both reached for their wands until Harry held up a hand to stop them.

Ron, on the other hand, continued. "How could you do that to your friend, Harry? Friends don't let friends fuck Malfoys."

"Makes you a shitty friend then, doesn't it?" Harry replied calmly.

"What?"

"We've both been fucking him for two weeks without any interference from you," Harry said. "If you were our friend like you claim to be, we wouldn't have been able to do so."

"I had no idea where you were!"

"Well a real friend would have moved heaven and earth to find his two missing friends if he was truly worried about them doing the nasty with Draco Malfoy, instead of sitting around bitching about his crappy Quidditch team's continuing failures while other people did all the searching, for all the good it did them," Harry said, a grin developing on his face as he saw the effect his words were having on Ron.

"You dirty son of a bitch!" the Gryffindor Prefect shouted, pulling his wand. "I'll –"

What, exactly, Ron would have done was a mystery for the ages, as he fell unconscious to the ground. Harry looked quickly at Draco and Hermione, both of whom still had their wands stowed away in their robes. Looking forward once again, he saw Ginny with her wand raised and pointing at her brother's back.

"He always was as big a git as Percy, even if he expressed it in the complete opposite way," she said softly as she approached Harry.

"Hi Gin," Harry said. "How was your summer?"

"A great deal less interesting than yours," she replied.

"Pity," Harry said. "I take it you don't agree with what Ron was yelling about?"

"Of course not!" she said, seeming hurt that he could think she would think he would do any of the things Ron was accusing him of. "Only a bloody idiot would believe Dumbledore's bullshit story about you and Malfoy abducting Hermione to turn her into a brood mare to continue your Family Lines while you fucked each other silly…though that second part is a delicious mental image."

Harry thought he saw Draco preening out of the corner of his eye.

"No, however you got together and why, it's not for whatever he thinks. I heard a little of what you spent August doing, and I want you to know that I'm behind you, regardless of whatever position the rest of my family takes," she said, before dropping to one knee and raising her wand to point at Harry.

"I, Ginevra Weasley, do swear fealty and service to Harry Potter, in repayment of a Life Debt incurred June of 1993. I swear to use my person and skills to help him achieve his aims until such a time as he considers the debt repaid, or until my own death. May Magic Bless and Guide Him."

A golden light shot out of her wand and hit Harry, who responded "I accept the service of Ginevra Weasley, and offer her my personal protection, that those in her Family who fail to see reason may know that she may not be harmed."

A golden light left his staff and hit Ginny, who rose with a smile. The spells faded and she embraced him in a hug.

"Congratulations, Harry. I would have rather it had been me you married, but I can't fault Magic's choices."

"Thank you, Ginny," Harry said. "Shall we stop holding the rest of the student body up and head into the Great Hall?" This suggestion was met by a grin from Ginny and raucous applause from the students that had surrounded the confrontation. Harry and Ginny entered the Great Hall, while Hermione and Draco lingered in the Entrance Hall near the unconscious body of Ron.

"Remember, Draco," Hermione said, touching the blond's arm before heading for the Great Hall herself. "Only maiming."

"Yes, dear," Draco said. "I'll see you and Harry after the feast." Hermione nodded and entered the Great Hall, leaving Draco alone with Ron.

"_Reennervate_," he muttered, pointing his wand at Ron, who awoke with a start. Draco then levitated him so that his feet were dangling a foot off the ground, and picked up the redhead's wand from where it had rolled from his lax grip.

Fear was present in Ron's visage as he saw Malfoy holding his wand. Draco gave serious consideration to snapping it, but settled for banishing it down the corridor that lead to the dungeons. With all the dark shadows and crannies, he wished the Weasel best of luck in finding it.

"I am very displeased with the words that came out of your mouth a few minutes ago, Weasley," Draco said. Ron whimpered.

"In fact, I would be well within my rights as a Lord of Magic, and bond-mate of two others of equal or higher rank, to kill you in any way I desire for the insults you heaped upon us," he said, starting to circle a Weasley that had begun to panic.

"You know who my ancestors are, of course," he said, completing one circuit around Ron and looking up to see pure fear. "You know very well that I know what some would consider an unholy number of ways to murder you in a fashion most ghastly."

Ron whimpered again and nodded.

"Fortunately for you, the Lady Granger has forbidden me from killing your worthless ginger arse. But I am permitted to maim you, or otherwise non-fatally harm you. So I shall," Draco said. "But how…" He tapped his wand-point to his chin several times while watching Weasley squirm against the levitation charm and begin to openly panic.

With the speed and viciousness of a cobra, Draco struck. Five spells left his wand, and he entered the Great Hall as Ron Weasley collapsed to the ground bleeding from the severed tips of his pinky fingers, covered in boils while his body hair arranged itself into several amusing and slightly homo-erotic shapes, one of which was his lower-back hair lengthening and shaping itself into a large sex toy that probed at the offensive Weasel's arse.

As much as he wanted to join Harry, Hermione and Harry's new vassal at their table, protocol demanded that he sit with his House and attempt to placate their anger with his new allegiance.

WOW A LINEBREAK WHAT IS THIS MAGIC?

Albus Dumbledore surveyed the returning students' entrance with narrowed eyes, especially as Harry and Hermione entered arm-in-arm, with Ginny Weasley in tow, followed shortly thereafter by Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood and the rest of the student body. Draco Malfoy did not enter until well after the rest of the students, and Ron Weasley didn't enter at all. What else he found interesting was that Malfoy still made for the Slytherin table, and did so without even the slightest acknowledgment of Harry and Hermione.

As he settled at the Slytherin table with perfect Pureblood grace, Minerva's Patronus approached Albus and asked him to send Poppy out to the Entrance Hall without any elaboration. She rose immediately and headed out, an action followed by the eyes of Potter and Granger, who immediately shifted their gaze to Malfoy, who simply nodded and grinned, then tapped his wrist where a watch would normally be. Both nodded back and returned to their conversations with Ms. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom.

Neither Ron Weasley nor Poppy had returned to the Hall by the time Minerva entered with the First Years, nor did they return by the time he rose to give his few pithy words that cued the house elves to send the food up from the kitchens.

"What did you require Poppy for, Minerva?" Albus asked his deputy quietly as he picked out a small selection of food.

"Somebody had viciously cursed young Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said. "Removed both of his pinky finger-tips, covered him in boils and cursed his body hair to arrange itself into most vulgar and offensive shapes."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "I shall have to investigate this. I believe I know the culprit, but it would be nice to hear his side of the story."

"I'm not sure if there's anything that can justify those actions," McGonagall said.

"We shall see," Dumbledore said, before returning to his dinner.

HEY REMEMBER I PROMISED SOME VOLDEMORT IN THIS CHAPTER?

The vaguely-man-like-substance known as Lord Voldemort sat lazily on his throne decorated in skulls, idly sending low-to-mid-level torture curses at the Muggle that was slowly revolving over the long dining room table in the Manor's Formal Dining Room. His dinner sat mostly unfinished as he was lost in thought concerning the events of the last few weeks.

Starting the night he had intended to Mark Lucius' brat when the child had dropped to a knee screaming Potter's name before being enveloped in a black light and disappearing. Severus reported that Potter had disappeared the same night, though Dumbledore was trying to keep it quiet.

Then, at the end of the week, he'd felt a sudden weakening, like a large amount of his power had been siphoned off. Meditation told him that it wasn't any of his innate power that he'd lost, and he still had a substantial amount, but most of the extra power he'd received from his Judgment Ritual was now gone. A reference check of the book where he'd found the Judgment Ritual informed him that the only way such an event could occur was if another in Britain underwent the Ritual and was granted his rank. Furious that another would claim to be a Lord of Dark Magic, he'd killed two house-elves and a Muggle before calming down.

Then, Potter – along with Malfoy and Granger – appeared before the Wizengamot for Potter to take his family's seat, clearly Marked as survivors of Judgment Rituals. Potter had come out as a Force, a Grey Force no less, which had Voldemort slightly worried. He would have had difficulty overcoming a Force with all of his power, weakened as he had been by Potter's Dark – the Malfoy brat – he was worried it might not be possible.

Lately, Potter's actions had been almost entirely anti-Dumbledore, and he had seemed to ignore Voldemort. This confused the descendant of Salazar Slytherin, especially as the boy had previously been quite focused on thwarting his every plan, in league with Dumbledore.

He knew more research was needed, especially into the excuses Potter had given the Wizengamot to counter Dumbledore's objections, to get to the bottom of this situation. Right now, Potter seemed intent to ignore him, so Voldemort was going to take full advantage of this to find out everything he could about the changes in his teenaged nemesis. The Death Eaters had grumbled about the scaling back of operations, but he'd cursed them until they'd agreed.

Killing the Muggle, he called Nagini in for her dinner as he headed back to the Library to begin anew his search for information about Chosen Trios.

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><p><em>AN: So, that's that! Unfortunately, I can't give you any concrete information about Ch. 10, because I'm posting this just after I finish it and have not started even conceptualizing the next chapter. If I had to hazard a guess, though, judging by the hints I dropped in this chapter, the Trio will meet up, Dumbledore will talk with at least Draco and maybe all of them, and Voldy will try to get in touch with his inner Slytherin and be clever.  
><em>

_I hope to have the next chapter up before Valentine's Day. We'll see.  
><em>

_Until then,  
><em>

_Phoenix II  
><em>


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: /blows dust off of fic. Blimey, how long's it been since I updated this. A year? That's...well, that's never happened before. My most sincere apologies to any of you who continue to follow this shambolic excuse for a super!Harry fic. I do seem to have lost my muse for this tale, as you might be able to tell from the end of this chapter. I hope to wrap it up quickly (though most likely unsatisfactorily for most of you, and truly most likely unsatisfactorily for myself as well), with less than a year (!) between updates. Chapter is below._

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><p>Draco followed his Head of House onto the revolving staircase leading to the Headmaster's office with some trepidation. Following behind Snape had allowed him to send Harry a message on the fake Galleon he'd been given by Hermione before they'd left for King's Cross earlier in the day for just this sort of situation.<p>

"_Summoned to Dumbles. Please follow and assist? –D"_

As they reached the fifth floor, Draco had received a surreptitious pat on the arse. With a quick glance over his shoulder showing nobody, he decided Harry was under his Invisibility Cloak and would be just behind him until and unless needed.

"Good evening, Prefect Malfoy," Dumbledore said as Snape led him into the opulent tower office full of books and odd silver devices (and a strangely stand-offish Phoenix) before taking a position two steps behind and one step to the left of Draco.

"Good evening, Headmaster," Draco replied. The Phoenix looked at him, and at a point one step back and one step to the right of him where he assumed Harry was before letting out a warbling song of greeting.

"Hello," Draco said to the bird, hopefully covering Harry's presence. The Headmaster, in any case, did not appear to notice.

"I would like to discuss one of your fellow Prefects this evening," Dumbledore said. Draco maintained an indifferent face. He was quite interested to hear how and why Dumbledore proposed he be punished for hexing that arse Weasley.

"Very well, sir, which one?"

"Prefect Weasley of Gryffindor," Dumbledore said. "He was found injured in the Entrance Hall this evening shortly after you entered the Great Hall well after the rest of the returning students."

"Your point being?" Draco asked, his Pureblood drawl in full effect.

"Did you attack Prefect Weasley?" Dumbledore asked, coming directly to the point.

"Yes," Draco said. "To answer your forthcoming query of 'Why?', the ginger idiot made the grievous error of speaking gross insults to myself and my bond-mates, the Lady Granger and Head Potter. I was well within my rights to do everything I did to him, and in fact I could have done a great deal worse, and would have but for my Lady's restraint."

"So you have completed the Triad bond," Dumbledore said, his voice flat and his eyes far duller than the twinkling visage he'd presented when Draco and Snape (and Harry) had entered the room.

"We have," Draco confirmed. "You saw the early proof of that when you tried to have Head Potter expelled from the Wizengamot."

"I'm afraid, though, that regardless of whether the Wizengamot would acquit you of any wrongdoing for your actions, dismembering classmates and sexually assaulting them with their own body hair is against Hogwarts' rules," Dumbledore said. "Such behavior is doubly against the rules for Prefects. You are expected to set an example for the other students."

"I think that teaching them that they don't have to put up with derogatory comments from uncultured idiots is setting a positive example," Harry said, pulling off his Invisibility Cloak and making his presence known, much to Dumbledore's surprise. "Good evening, Headmaster."

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore replied, his facial expression changing to one of annoyance.

"May I ask what you're doing here?"

"Protecting my bond-mate," Harry said. "Neither of you have ever given me any reason to trust you not to attempt to harm him should he be left alone with you."

"So then you heard him admit to assaulting Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore asked, ignoring Harry's jibe.

"I did," Harry confirmed, his tone challenging Dumbledore to get to the point.

"Surely you're not going to let him get away with harming your friend."

"As I made clear to the idiot while he was spouting off, he is no longer my friend. I have no use for such an intolerant ass in my circle of friends, and frankly he was never much of a friend in the first place."

"And you think what Mister Malfoy did was warranted?"

"What Draco did to Weasley was the minimum necessary to revenge us against Weasley's ill-advised verbal diarrhea. If Draco is punished with anything more than a loss of ten points for use of magic outside the classroom and two detentions with his Head of House, you and I shall duel for insulting us, Professor." His steely tone brooked no argument.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed with surprise, and most noticeably anger. Harry's staff, in return, flashed with green power, and Dumbledore's anger vanished.

"Ten points from Slytherin," he growled out. "And detention for two nights with Professor Snape."

Harry smirked. "Bravo, Professor. Perhaps there's still hope for you to see sense after all."

"You insolent brat," Snape growled. Harry's gaze was on him before he could utter another word, and braver men than Severus Snape would have quailed at it.

"Lady Hermione gave neither of us any limitations when it comes to responding to attacks from you," Harry said. "If you continue to act in the manner you have previously when it comes to her and me, you'll wish we'd limited our response to what was done to Weasley, and will beg for the sweet release of death by werewolf. You, Severus Snape, are now and always have been, a foul, ill-tempered, greasy git. Good evening."

With that said, Harry spun on his heel and left the Headmaster's office. Draco was quick to follow, to avoid retribution from Snape or Dumbledore. Once they were down the spiral staircase, past the gargoyle and two corridors over, Draco found himself being pinned to the wall and snogged heavily by Harry.

"What'd you do to Weasley, anyway?"

"Severed the tips of his pinkies, cursed him with boils and turned his back hair into a dildo that was trying to fuck him," Draco said.

"Gross," Harry said. "I'm sure McGonagall was incredibly offended."

"I don't intend to find out. Where's Hermione?"

"Finding us some quarters. We have no intention of sneaking out every night to find you or trying to arrange surreptitious meetings during prefect rounds."

"How noble of you to take steps to include me when the two of you could just go at it alone each night in that no-doubt-gaudily-furnished Tower of yours," Draco said. Harry pouted.

"Well that would take all the fun out of it, for me at least," Harry said. "And I'm sure she'd miss you too, don't think I haven't caught you two playing before I wake up."

Draco didn't even bother to look ashamed. "So what's the plan until she finds somewhere?"

"Snog you, obviously," Harry replied, returning to said activity until breaking off with a gasp and pulling his charmed Galleon out of his pocket. His face lit up with a grin as he grabbed Draco's hand and pulled him along the corridors.

The room was in the History of Magic corridor, guaranteeing that hardly anyone would ever be there because Hogwarts legend held that Binns haunted that entire corridor, floating from room to room spouting off about various and sundry Goblin rebellions. Casting a couple detection spells, Draco noted that Hermione had been thoughtful enough to include a spirit-repelling ward on the room. A large bed had been set up, and there were three wardrobes in the room. Harry and Hermione's trunks were already beside two of them, and even as Draco stared at the third, his own trunk appeared beside it.

Harry beamed. "I love house-elves," he said. "They're brilliant."

THIS IS A UNION-MANDATED LINE BREAK

The man-like-thing-once-known-as Tom Riddle blew out another library window with an explosive curse as he closed the last book that contained any reference to Chosen Trios.

He had found that Trios were brought together by Magic at times of great disruption to magical society by conflict between the Dark and the Light, with one or the other trying to gain absolute power over all of society, and were tasked with restoring order. More often than not, this resulted in the complete destruction of the Dark and/or Light Societies responsible for the unrest, with the rest of the wizarding population being cowed into submission afterwards for the next century or so, until after the Trio responsible for restoring the Balance passes on.

Potter, the mudblood Granger, and young Malfoy had obviously been called into action to stop his war against Dumbledore, which he had begun in secret not long after graduating Hogwarts and then begun actively in the late 1960s when quiet bribery, backroom threats, and selective assassination had failed to accomplish his goals. They had been modest in the beginning: the repeal of the host of the anti-Dark laws pushed through the Wizengamot by Dumbledore in the wake of the Grindelwald War. After five Horcruxes, though, he'd decided it would just be easier, better, and more fun for him to take over the entire country.

He would admit, during any of the brief moments of lucidity he had, that his methods leading up to his first defeat by Harry Potter had been more counter-productive than anything, and definitely more detrimental to the Pureblood movement he claimed to be leading. He'd wiped out no less than a third of the Pureblood families in Britain, and critically endangered half the rest. As a result, there were more Muggleborn in this generation than any time since the late 1860s: the magic that would have been wielded by Pureblood heirs had instead been gifted to filthy Muggles, because he and his followers had killed the Purebloods.

A re-think of strategy was definitely in order. After all, he had absolutely no desire to be permanently vanquished by Potter.

THIS LINEBREAK BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE INTERNATIONAL UNION OF LINES LOCAL #4837

"_Yami ga, wo hitori no, jibun wo tsukuru!_"

There was a flash of light, a spike of pain, and suddenly Harry felt incredibly lighter. That is, until he saw the reason for both the pain and the lightness: there was another him, half-sitting, half-leaning against the table in their quarters with a devilish smirk on his face.

"Bloody hell," he breathed.

"Tsk tsk," his double said. "Cursing is unbecoming of you, Light."

"What are you?" Harry asked. "And why did you call me Light?"

"Because that's what you are," the duplicate said. "As to what I am…I'm part of you. Every Grey has two halves: a Dark and a Light. You've taken it a step further with having a male and a female lover. The spell you just cast splits a powerful-enough-Grey into two separate magic-wielding beings. You are the Light, Draco-loving part of you, and I am the Dark, Hermione-loving part of you. This way, your Light, Defenisive Magic compliments his, and my Dark, Offensive Magic compliments hers."

Harry stared at his Dark half appraisingly. "OK," he said, as the door burst open to admit Hermione and Draco.

"I knew he'd done something stupid!" she exclaimed. "Harry…why are there two of you?"

"Yes, and why are you both wearing clothes?" Draco asked, shutting the door behind him.

"I found an interesting Japanese spell for Greys that splits me into my Dark and Light halves," Light Harry answered Hermione.

"And we're both wearing clothes because neither of us wants to fuck ourself," Dark Harry answered Draco.

"But now you're here," Light Harry said, walking over and throwing his arms around Draco, while Dark Harry did the same to Hermione.

"So let's get this freaky party started," Dark Harry said.

UMM HEY LOOK OVER THERE IT'S A CRUMPLE-HORNED SNORKACK!

"So…you found a spell that separates your Grey essence into your Dark and Light halves?"

"Yep," Harry said. "Japanese, as I told you before. The book wasn't even in the Restricted Section."

"I wonder why not?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I mean, there is a certain power requirement before you even consider that you have to have survived a Judgment Ritual to use spells like these, and maybe five witches and wizards per country in any given generation will manage a feat like that," Harry said.

"I suppose," Hermione said. "It's also good that we found out that exhausting either essence will collapse the spell and combine you into one body again."

"Quite, but I'd rather we hadn't found out the way we had," Draco groused as a black owl attacked their window.

"Odd color, for an owl," Harry quipped as he opened the window with a gesture. The bird flew in, dropped an envelope in Harry's lap and alit to the windowsill. Obviously, the letter was expecting an immediate reply.

"I recognize that handwriting," Draco said, looking at the envelope over Harry's shoulder. "That's the Dark Lord's. Why's he writing you?"

"Search me," Harry said. "He's never done it before. Usually just fucks about with my head." Casting detection spells at the envelope, he soon determined it was safe to open.

A single folded sheet of parchment fell out, and Harry picked it up to read.

_To Harry James, Head of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter_

_Greetings._

_I am well aware that you will view the mere arrival of this letter with suspicion, given the nature of our previous interactions, but I have recently become aware of several things that necessitated its writing._

_First, that you – like I, fifty years ago – have undergone and survived a Ritual of Judgment. I came out a Lord of Dark Magic, and immediately set about mastering the Dark Arts and bringing ultimate power to the Dark Side. I am ashamed to admit I have failed to master the Arts, and they have instead mastered me. You, on the other hand, came out as a very powerful Neutral practitioner of Magic, able to wield with relative ease the magic of both the Dark and the Light._

_Second, that some of the Acts I performed trying to use Dark Magic to secure immortality have left my psyche incredibly fragile, and that my once keen and cunning mind has fractured along with my soul. I am granted only occasional moments of lucidity and sanity, and I am using them to compose this letter._

_Third, that your Choosing, along with Heir Malfoy and the Lady Granger, has weakened me. In particular, Heir Malfoy coming out of his Judgment Ritual as a Lord of Dark Magic has taken most of the magical power boost the Ritual gave me all those years ago. I am left with my own substantial original magic, with a small fraction of a boost from the Ritual, though I doubt that will last much longer. Magic, like Nature, abhors paradoxes, and there being two Dark Lords (though Heir Malfoy would likely object to having his title rearranged as such, most Common folk will do so; he may as well just get used to it) certainly qualifies as a paradox. As Heir Malfoy is the most recent incumbent to the title, he will soon take what little surplus power I had._

_Fourth, that the combination of the first three things has led me to a realization that I cannot hope to prevail in a fight against you. However, I did not choose my new name randomly, I truly do not wish to die. If you were curious about the vague way I phrased the third paragraph, I shall elaborate here. If you weren't, I shall anyway, because it's my letter, I'll do what I want. I created Horcruxes – an object in which a portion of my soul (torn from the whole by cold-blooded murder) is stored. They tied me to this plane of existence, so when my original body was destroyed by my own reflected curse fifteen years ago, what was left of my original soul remained here. It was in this form I encountered you in your first year._

_I ask a favour of you, Head Potter: that you and your Bonded assist me in retrieving my remaining Horcruxes (you seem to have destroyed the one I left Heir Malfoy's imbecilic father) and attempt to partially heal my soul in exchange for my retirement from terrorism and attempting to overthrow the Ministry by force. I will order my servants to surrender themselves to you for prosecution and judgment, and exile myself from Britain while I seek to prolong my life and avoid Death._

_My owl will await your reply, however long it takes you to compose one._

_At your service,_

_Thomas Marvolo, Scion of the Ancient House of Gaunt_

"Well," Harry said, looking up from the parchment and looking at his two bond-mates, who'd read it over his shoulders, "that was unexpected."

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><p><em>AN 2: DUN DUN DUNNNN! Polite!AdmitsHeHasAProblem!Surrendering!Voldy! Don't think I've ever seen that one before. Also, don't ask why everybody is so very polite (however forced) in this chapter, and using courtesy titles everywhere. I don't know myself, and I wrote the bloody thing.  
><em>

_To recap from the top, though: No idea how much longer this fic will run, though it's days are obviously numbered since I'm trying to take out the major antagonist right now, no idea what might come in the next chapter or when it might come, though I will try for before next Christmas._

_Again, sorry for the long wait, and equally sorry if this didn't measure up to expectations._

_See you when I see you!_

_-Phoenix II_


End file.
